Crime Pays: A Big O Love Story
by A.C.T. of Paradigm
Summary: Or: "How Beck Stole an R. Dorothy Wayneright's Heart (and the rest of her, too)." Can Beck be reformed by the love of a good android? Is Roger Smith going to stand idly by? And whose side is Angel really on? Big O Action! True Love! Giant Robot Battles! Roger Smith with his shirt off! Adventure! Cons and Swindles! (Set shortly after the end of Big O Season 2.)
1. Dori's Rude Awakening

**Dori's Rude Awakening**

Dorothy woke suddenly. One moment she was asleep, the next, she was wide awake, her eyes still closed. _That's odd,_ she thought.

She was lying on a hard surface, her head on a pillow. She felt no desire to open her eyes just yet because she wanted the moment to last. She was happy. _It's good to be alive._

She wondered what time it was, and realized it was 3:42 AM and 12.02 seconds. _I can't know that. I must be dreaming._

She tried to remember what had happened around bedtime, but nothing came to mind. _What happened yesterday?_ she wondered. Nothing. _Well, what's the date?_

The answer frightened her, almost pushing way the delicious happiness she was basking in. Surely the year had more than two digits in it! How could it be "41"? It was supposed to be … what was it supposed to be?

What was her last name?

Who was she?

The last question triggered a wave of memories and associations, but they were not hers. A vast library of information about androids opened up before her and, beyond that, vague, shadowy impressions of other information, half-remembered, cold and objective, none of it hers.

 _I am not an android! I'm a girl!_

"Dorothy," said a man's gentle voice. "Dorothy, it's time to wake up."

Dorothy's eyes flew open. The man was leaning over her, looking down at her anxiously. He was a tall, handsome young man with blond hair in ridiculous curls and a short, neat blond beard. He wore a well-tailored suit whose effect was ruined because it was rumpled and yellow. The bulge of a shoulder holster was barely discernable under his left armpit.

He looked terrible, like he hadn't slept in a week. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his paleness couldn't be normal. He loomed over Dorothy as she lay—wherever she was lying.

Horrified, she blurted, "Jason! Are you all right?" It was not until she said these words that she realized that she knew this man; she loved him. His name was Jason Beck.

Beck was taken aback. After a moment he said, "I …" and didn't seem to know how to continue.

Dorothy sat up. She gazed steadily at him. He really was at the end of his strength. "Is there some kind of emergency?"

Beck smiled sheepishly. "Naw, it's just that I thought I could get everything finished in one go if I pushed myself." He looked her up and down in a way that made her want to slap him. "You look great."

"When did you last eat?" she asked. Her own predicament seemed so overwhelming that it was a relief to focus on something simple, like a man who forgot to eat or rest when he was working. This was normal.

Beck waved a hand. "I don't know."

"Let's get you something." She stood up. As she did so, she noticed her clothes for the first time. She was wearing a black dress, expensive, made of a soft, velvety cloth. White cuffs, a white jabot with a green brooch at her throat. Black stockings and soft black shoes—almost slippers. So strange. It was a beautiful outfit, but she would not have bought it in a million years. She looked up at Beck quizzically, and realized for the first time how tall he was.

"Do you like it?" he asked.

"Black is not my color."

Oddly, this pleased him. He smiled crookedly and showed her to an apartment attached to the workshop in which she'd awakened. The kitchen was surprisingly lavish, gleaming with restaurant-style stainless-steel equipment. Dorothy caught her reflection in the refrigerator door and froze.

"See?" said Beck, affecting confidence. "You're still you."

"I'm supposed to be a redhead."

"Blonde suits you."

"And my eyes are supposed to be violet. They're my best feature."

"I'm sorry, Dorothy. I didn't know."

She looked at Beck's reflection. What was wrong with him? It was as if he needed her approval as much as oxygen. And why did she crave _his_ approval? It wasn't like her. She couldn't remember the details, but she was sure that she had always approved of her loved ones, and they had approved of her. It was something you took for granted, part of being a …

"Jason, what's my last name?"

"Wayneright. You're Dorothy Wayneright."

"Yes." She opened the refrigerator door. It hadn't been restocked in some time, to judge by the lettuce. There was a glass bottle of milk. She peeled off the cap and sniffed. "I don't smell anything."

"Your sense of taste and smell aren't anything to write home about," said Beck, taking the bottle from her. "Your other senses are really good, though. Better than human."

"I really am an android." It was not quite a question.

"Yeah." He sniffed the milk, took a glass from the cupboard, and poured. "Want some?"

"I'm not thirsty."

"When you are, it means you're low on oil. But you can eat and drink if you want. Socially, I mean."

"Why am I an android, Jason?"

Beck sipped the milk, and then downed the glass in a few gulps, filled it again, and drained it again. "I'm starved." He put a frying pan on the stove and turned on the heat, then put four slices of bread into the toaster with a deft movement of one hand, quick as a conjuror. He turned back to Dorothy. "Forty years ago, your father made a recording of you. It mapped out your brain; memories, personality, even glands. Last year, he used this recording to build an android brain. So you're still you." He paused and added, "More or less."

"Why, Jason?"

Beck turned and broke four eggs into the frying pan. As they fried he said, not facing her. "Your father built several android Dorothies and activated one before he died. I fell in love with her, but she hates me. Anyway, she loves someone else. So here you are."

"Why does she hate you?"

Beck looked away from her steady gaze, then turned back and looked her straight in the eye. "I tried to kill her. I tried to kill her boyfriend. And I'm responsible for her father's death."

"You killed my father?"

"No! It was an accident! Well, not exactly. It was supposed to be a bluff. But the idiot I had working for me was so scared of Dorothy—the other Dorothy—that he panicked and pulled the trigger."

They stared at each other for a long moment, then Dorothy said, "Don't let your eggs burn."

He turned back to the frying pan and she buttered his toast for him, buying time to think. She opened a cupboard and found jam just where she would have put it, and placed it on the table. Beck sat down with his breakfast and she sat down across from him. He had clearly meant to continue his confession, but the food distracted him.

Dorothy watched him wolf it down. He was such a strange man. Why did she love him? How far could she trust him? Why couldn't she remember anything? Maybe she needed to hide her amnesia from him.

Her father was dead because of him … she tried to remember. Had her father been a good man? She didn't seem to have any real memories of people or events. Just habits of thought. She supposed she'd eventually be able to guess at her past by the way she thought about things now.

What to do about Beck? He hardly seemed to be a suitable companion for her. She wondered whether escaping would present any difficulty. But the thought of escape was followed instantly by a deep distress. _Leave Jason? Impossible!_

Disoriented, she tried to think around the problem. She loved Beck, but more than that, she was emotionally dependent on him to a degree she wouldn't have thought possible. It was difficult even to think about the problem without triggering waves of crippling anxiety. Where had she gotten the impression that androids were unemotional?

And, for that matter, could it be normal for an android to be physically attracted to a human?

She focused again. Beck was still eating. He had noticed nothing, and she suspected that little had shown on her face.

Well, at least he didn't seem reticent about difficult topics. "Jason," she asked. "Why do I love you?"

"You can't help it," he said around a mouthful of toast. "You're stuck with it for a few months, maybe a year. It's called 'android adolescence.' You need to be fully engaged emotionally with another human so you don't go all robotic on us. You're loaded with all sorts of features and information and functions that cause a huge cognitive dissonance unless you're firmly grounded in human relationships. "

She knew what he meant; she'd felt the impact of those functions already. She felt better, safer, when she was thinking like a human. The robotic part of her could wait. She could absorb it bit by bit, and remain herself. She hoped.

Beck continued, "How do you feel? I should be running tests, not feeding my face."

"I feel fine. I don't understand why my body seems so natural."

"You spent most of the last week getting used to it. There's a training routine that adapts your mind to your body. Brilliant piece of work."

"This happened while I was asleep?"

"Semiconscious, mostly. You probably don't remember any of it. The voice was the tricky part. You sound great, though," he assured her.

"Do I understand you?" she asked. "You killed my father and tried to kill my…"

"Sister," supplied Beck.

"My sister, and yet you fell in love with her."

"Yeah."

"She's an android, too."

"That's right," said Beck. "She's a very impressive girl. Anybody would fall in love with her. Anyone with any sense."

Dorothy stared at him, making him uncomfortable. Then she continued, "And you decided you wanted a Dorothy of your own, and you could make me love you, so you did."

"It's not like that!" Beck protested. "The imprinting is essential. Look, Dorothy, I know you won't believe me, but I didn't cheat at all. I did it all according to your father's instructions. Well, his original instructions. Not his later notes; those were ... never mind. I didn't change a thing, except that I switched the imprinting from a father/daughter relationship to a …" he stopped abruptly.

She gazed at him coldly until he muttered, "It's not like I'd be any damned good as a father figure."

After another long silence, she asked, "Why, Jason? You can't have thought that I'd be happy about this."

Beck nodded, gaining confidence. "I have my reasons. They're good reasons, Dorothy. Let me think." He considered for a moment, then said, "I can't tell you the biggest reason yet. You need to acclimate, first. But almost as important is, I need your help in transforming my life."

"What do you mean?"

He grinned crookedly, "I'm going to give up my life of crime and become a hero instead."

His grin faded slowly as she gazed at him. But she was attracted to the proposition. She had never heard anything so wildly romantic in her life. He actually wanted to redeem himself through the love of a good woman!

"Are you serious?"

"Absolutely. You're gonna be amazed. But I've been a crook for a long time. Half the time I'm not sure I know the difference between right and wrong."

"You're going to use me as a prosthetic conscience?" Part of her thought this was the stupidest idea she'd ever heard. It couldn't possibly work. Another part of her said, _Yes, of course. That's what I'm for._

"What I need is a partner," he said irritably. "Someone I can trust. Someone with good judgment, who'll stand up to me when I'm making mistakes, but who won't try to run my life for me." He pushed his plate away and stood, swaying a little.

"You need to sleep, Jason."

He opened his mouth to protest, then nodded. "A little dizzy there for a minute," he said.

Dorothy took him by the elbow. "Which way is your bedroom?"

The short walk to the bedroom revived him a little, and he didn't want her assistance in changing into a pair of yellow silk pajamas. He changed in the attached bathroom. When he opened the door, he had a toothbrush in his mouth.

Dorothy said, "I don't feel sleepy."

Beck nodded. When he had finished with the toothbrush, he said, "You won't, not normally. It's possible for you to sleep, but your day/night rhythm is set so you won't want to."

"What should I do while you're asleep?"

"I should have timed this better," Beck complained, yawning hugely. "You're vulnerable now. I shouldn't leave you alone."

"I'm not alone. I'm here with you."

"Keep it that way." He almost collapsed into the king-sized bed. Once under the covers, he gave her a look.

"No, thank you," she said, settling into an armchair.

"I'm not gonna try anything," he said.

"No, thank you," she repeated.

He yawned again. "Stay out of the lab," he muttered. "Think human thoughts."

A moment later he was asleep.

Dorothy watched him as he slept. The struggle between the utter exhaustion of his body and his powerful will had departed, going to wherever such things go during sleep. He looked ... vulnerable, she decided, and a little lost. She wasn't sure how she felt about this. She didn't feel up to analyzing her emotions, with their conflicting messages of resentment, attraction, outrage, and devotion. Some of these emotions were hers and some had been imposed. She was fairly sure that not all of her positive feelings had been imposed. She suspected that she liked bold, adventurous men and expected her home to contain a well-stocked laboratory.

The idea that he'd fallen in love with an android also seemed perfectly normal and obvious, but she knew this conclusion wasn't really hers. There was a different texture to thoughts that had come as part of the android package. These made up a third category of mental activity, different from her familiar Dorothy Wayneright thoughts and the cold, sterile facts that made up her robotic memories. Her android thoughts were at least as human as hers, and carried complex emotional connotations, but they were new. And then there were the robotic thoughts. It was as if she also carried a robot mind within her, glittering and precise, powerful in its way, not truly unemotional, but with most emotions dialed way down. Her robot mind was inflexible and perhaps none too bright. Or was it bright in a way she didn't understand? She knew that when it was in charge, she would be extremely task-oriented and she wouldn't feel much. In spite of everything, she wasn't distressed enough to be attracted by the prospect. Not much, anyway.

Too much to think about, and she didn't even trust her own thoughts! Beck had said, "Think human thoughts." Maybe she shouldn't analyze herself tonight.

She looked around for some kind of distraction. She crossed the room and opened the door to the closet. Several yellow suits hung there in dry-cleaners' bags. A shoe rack held several pairs of nearly identical shoes, with shoe trees. Further back were a couple of different kinds of boots. Dinner jacket, tuxedo, trench coat (black), lab coat (white), and coveralls (faded blue) were hung neatly on sturdy hangars. Then came a few articles of women's clothing, all rather dusty, from the wardrobes of at least three different women who must have abandoned them at some time or other. The most interesting and least dusty was an expensive-looking skirt suit in pink, suitable for a high-class secretary with an unlimited clothes budget. This was the only women's clothing in a dry-cleaner's bag—a different cleaner from the one Beck used. A black blouse shared the hangar with the suit, and a pair of shoes and panty hose were in a separate bag. Dorothy stared at these clothes for some time, masochistically savoring the jealousy and anxiety that the thought of other women aroused in her. Especially the pink suit. It reminded her of someone …

She rescued Beck's discarded clothes from the bathroom. Everything about him bespoke a scrupulous attention to detail, and the clothes lying crumpled on the floor were out of character. Well, he had pushed himself beyond his limits. She brushed and hung up the suit, put the shoes and tie away, and tossed the rest of the clothes in the hamper. Yellow silk boxers? And what kind of criminal wore monogrammed underwear? Surely the police could find him by making a few phone calls to tailors and dry cleaners!

She looked at the shoulder holster and pistol uncertainly, then decided that Beck probably kept it with him at night. She hung it on the poster of the four-poster bed closest to the bedside table.

No sooner had she done so than the phone rang, too loud in the stillness. Dorothy noticed that she was not startled and did not jump. She picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

"Let me talk to Beck." A man's voice, unfriendly, in a hurry.

Dorothy looked at Beck, who was sleeping peacefully. "He's not available right now. Can I take a message?" Unbidden, the phone number the man was calling from arose in her mind.

The man swore and hung up. Dorothy wrote on the bedside tablet, "Caller, man, 4:53 AM. No message. I think he called from JKK-5252."

After this, she looked around for something new to distract her. The bookshelf held only a handful of deeply uninteresting titles, but on the bottom shelf was a small cardboard box with a dozen paperbacks in it. On top of the books was a sheet of pink writing paper that said, in a bold, feminine hand, "Beck—Don't you dare throw these out! Angel" Dorothy laid out the books on the carpet. They were evenly divided between romance novels and spy thrillers. One book, a spy thriller, had been read so many times that it was almost falling apart. Dorothy put the other books back in the box, along with the note, returned the box to its shelf, and settled back in her armchair to read.

The story revolved around the hero's attempt to prevent a group of spies from stealing a secret weapon and using it to destroy the city. He was immediately thwarted by a beautiful female spy who stole the secret weapon almost from under his nose. The rest of the book was essentially a duel between these two. The spy quickly fell in love with the hero, but clung stubbornly to her mission and her ideals. The hero seemed only dimly aware of her feelings—or of his own. In the end, forced to choose between her duty and her love, she sacrificed herself to save him. This turned the tide of events and the hero was victorious, though after her death he was strangely impaired, like a marionette with half its strings tangled. He never quite realized that his heart was broken.

Dorothy closed the book and wept. There were no sobs, no tears—she had left these reflexes behind. This made her weep all the more.

After a while she looked up, dry-eyed, outwardly composed. Beck was sitting up in bed, watching her with an odd, sad smile.

"Good morning, Jason," she said.

"Hi," he said, getting out of bed. He crossed the room to where she was sitting, and she stood up. He enfolded her in his arms and she put her cheek against his chest. He stroked her hair. In his arms, she felt safe, loved, and human. Everything was going to be all right.

After a while, she asked, "Who is Angel?"

"A spy."

"Really?"

He nodded.

Dorothy asked, "A friend of yours?"

"Yeah."

"A lover?"

"Not since she fell in love with Roger Smith."

The name hit Dorothy like an electric shock, but she couldn't say why. "Who is Roger Smith?"

"Your sister's boyfriend."

Dorothy stepped back and looked up at him.

He answered the unspoken question. "Roger's a professional negotiator. He's good. Angel's living in the same house as them. She's recovering from some kind of injury she got a couple of weeks ago when the world went all funny again."

"A threesome?"

"Dunno. Probably not. You're the jealous type, I think."

"She's not me."

He stepped forward to embrace her again, but she raised her hands, so he took them in his instead. "Yeah, you're right. She's her and you're you. It's gotta be that way, and not just because she hates my guts."

"I want to meet her."

He winced. "We're not on speaking terms. Roger hates me, too. They'd love _you,_ but I'm not sure they'd understand that we're a package deal, not for a while."

"Do you plan on making peace with them?"

"I have to. It's all part of the plan. Soon."

"How will you do it?"

"A couple of ways. I'm halfway home already because I have you, and they can't hurt me without hurting you. But I'm gonna earn their respect too, with my heroic deeds."

She searched his face. "You're serious."

"Yeah."

She stepped closer and he took her in his arms again. After a while she said, "Jason?"

"Mmmm?"

"I'm scared."

Beck murmured, "Everything's going to be all right, Dorothy. You'll see."

"There are things inside my head that frighten me."

"I know. That'll be okay, too. Once everything's integrated, you'll still be you, and you'll be the boss of all those new functions."

"And I can't remember _anything!"_

"Didn't I tell you about that? It happened to everybody. Forty years ago, everybody woke up without their memories."

"Why?" Reluctantly, she left his arms so she could get a good look at his face.

"No one knows, but I'm gonna find out someday. It wasn't just memories, but records, too. All the newspapers vanished, all the history books and diaries. The androids lost their memories, too. And the recording your father made of your personality lost its memories just as if you'd been awake."

"That doesn't make sense."

"I know. You could just about imagine that simple amnesia was an experiment gone wrong or something, but the rest? It's a swindle. Someone's jerking us around. They've got a lot to answer for."

After a while he said, "I'll get dressed and we'll go into the lab. We'll run some tests and talk." He'd only slept for three and a half hours, but seemed fresh and alert.

"I took a message when you were asleep."

She indicated the memo pad, and he picked it up and read the note. It angered him. "Damn it to hell! I told them they'd have to wait." He grinned suddenly when he noticed the phone number. "You traced the call, didn't you, baby?"

"Don't call me 'baby.'"

"Sweetheart? Honey? Pumpkin? Princess?"

Dorothy rolled her eyes. "Dorothy … No." She considered. Names were important. A human forebear, an android sister, and her. She was going through enough of an identity crisis without having the same name as the other two. Yes: she needed to be a different person from the other two. Beck had been wise to make her a blonde rather than a redhead.

What name to use? Not a completely new one; that would be going too far. She was not prepared to reject that she was Dorothy Wayneright. Perhaps a nickname? Dot? Dolly? Dottie? Dora? Dori? She had a fleeting impression of herself as a little girl named Dori, a girl who wasn't yet as serious or as touchy as her father. Back when she would smile instead of glare when people called her pretty. Well, where was her precious independence now? She was as dependent upon Beck as she had ever been upon her father … what had happened to her mother? Was this memory even real? In her mind's eye, little Dori had long blonde hair. That couldn't be right!

Well, that didn't mean it wasn't a good idea.

"Dori," she said. "Call me Dori."

He didn't like it. "It makes you sound younger."

"I'm only eighteen, Jason."

"You _seem_ as old as the hills."

She was confident in her decision. "It's what I want, Jason. Call me Dori."

He grinned suddenly. "Let's give it a try. I love you, Dori."

His words filled her with joy. "I love you too, Jason."

He threw back his head and laughed; a horrible, jarring cackle.

"Jason!"

He stopped and smiled at her sheepishly. "Sorry, Dori."

She stared at him for a moment and said, "Which suit will you wear?"

He selected clothing. As he retreated into the bathroom to change, he said, "Hey, Dori, see if you can find that number in the phone book." The door closed.

Dori found a thick telephone book in the bedside table. It was a little different from what she was used to, not that she could quite remember what she was used to, but she soon discovered that the prefix was from a part of the "Illegal Residence Sector," whatever that meant. This narrowed things down to about thirty pages. She started scanning them one by one.

She didn't feel any faster at this than when she'd been human, but she didn't get tired. Though bored, her attention didn't wander. She felt as fresh and focused when she finished as when she'd started.

Beck emerged. He wore a fresh suit, custom-tailored and immaculate. He had showered and attended to the grooming required by his curls and beard. He grinned at her. He was in high spirits, full of nervous energy.

 _My god, he's handsome!_ Dori thought. The yellow suit was a terrible color by any normal measure, but somehow Dori knew that Beck was showing his true colors—not just the yellow of his suit and tie, but the black of his shirt. Yellow and black, just like ... she couldn't recall.

Dori held up the memo pad. He whooped and snatched it from her. "You got it?"

"No, but both of the adjacent numbers have the same address. I wrote it all down."

"That's great, Dori." He carefully transferred the information into a small notebook he pulled from an inside pocket of his suit. Then he crossed the room briskly and waved jauntily for her to follow him. "This way. Time to get to work!"

He strode into the lab. He pulled a white lab coat off a rack and put it on, and removed a smaller one for her. Then he picked up a clipboard from the granite-topped table where she'd awakened. Dori noticed that the table had a sheet and a pillow on it for her head, but was otherwise bare.

Beck smiled and said, "Okay, you've got a choice here. Are you going to play the role of patient or lab assistant?"

"Lab assistant."

He handed her the clipboard. "What's next on the list?"

Dori scanned down the list of steps. The ones at the top of the page had been meticulously checked off. "Awaken subject by calling his or her name."

Beck handed her a pencil. "I think we can check that one off."

Dori checked if off and continued down the list. "If subject doesn't respond … if subject is not coherent … if subject … if subject …" There were apparently a lot of things that could go wrong. She turned the page. "Administer the following test …" She looked up.

"Read the questions aloud and then answer them," said Beck, who was making a pot of coffee.

"'Question one. What is your Name?' R. Dorothy Wayneright … what?" She looked up in amazement. "Where did the 'R' come from?"

"It means you're an android," said Beck. "Write down the answer and read the note that follows it."

"'Subject should (97% probability) add the R. before the name without prompting.'" said Dori. "I don't like this, Jason."

"It's in a good cause," said Beck. "You'll see."

"'Question two. How old are you?' What should I put down here, Jason?" she asked, poker-faced.

He sighed. "Eighteen."

"'Question three …' these are all very boring, Jason."

"We're gonna do every one of them," said Beck.

They worked through the interminable lists of questions. No hidden mental problems were revealed. Beck spent most of the time pacing back and forth, but he was listening carefully. Dori was impressed by the vast number of things that had failed to go wrong with her.

The physical tests were next. First, Beck had Dori weigh herself. 287 pounds. There were coordination tests, a hearing test, a vision test. Beck had performed these before, while she was semiconscious, but they needed to be performed again. It was her mind that was being tested, really.

Dori was alternately impressed and appalled by Beck. He was meticulous and very smart. He was solicitous of both her welfare and her feelings. He was also quite possibly the most annoying man in the world. He had tremendous energy, which often burst out in inappropriate ways; fidgeting, pacing, and that horrible cackling laugh. He was touchy. He could focus very intensely on whatever interested him, to the exclusion of everything else. This, too, could be tremendously annoying. And his life of crime had left him callous and insensitive. Not to her, or, she suspected, to any woman he allowed to get close to him. But he was indifferent to the fate of most people. He wanted to be a hero not because he cared about people one way or the other, but as an art form. He thought of himself as an artist, and thought of crime as a medium too cramped to allow him to display his full genius. He also had a childish love of showing off and a powerful need to win.

In spite of everything, Dori couldn't help liking him. He had such enthusiasm! He was competent. And he _understood._ He understood her android nature far better than she did, but at the same time was absolutely convinced that she was not a machine, but a woman.

After about fifteen pages of questionnaires and checklists having to do with her mental state and perceptions, it was time for the walk-through of the features and peculiarities of her new android body. The checklist calmly instructed the subject to disrobe. She read this aloud and looked at Beck to see his reaction.

He was trying to read _her_ reaction. Finally, he said, "Dori, honey, let's just work through the list, okay?"

She met his gaze and nodded. She read ahead in the list and said, "A full-length mirror would help."

"Good idea. Back to the bedroom, then." He paused, then said, "Or we could carry the bedroom mirror in here if you want. I don't seduce you until the last page."

Dori flipped to the last page of the checklist and he broke into a raucous cackle of laughter. She glared at him and he stopped abruptly.

"Sorry."

Dori was embarrassed at being the butt of his joke and humiliated at this reminder of how much she was in Beck's power. It angered her to realize that her artificial attachment meant that, when he chose to seduce her, he would surely succeed. She shoved all these thoughts aside and stood up. "You should eat, Jason. You skipped breakfast. It's almost noon."

He reached for her but she dodged him. He followed her glumly into the kitchen, where he slumped into a chair.

"I can't eat now," he said.

Dori, ignoring this, made a ham sandwich. As she set the plate and a glass of milk in front of him, he made as if to push them away, then stopped himself.

Dori said, "You should eat."

"I can't."

"Jason, you need …"

"Damn it, will you leave my stomach out of this?"

She glared at him. He glared back.

She wanted to cut him down to size, but words had never come easily to her.

Beck stood suddenly and stepped back a couple of paces. He struck a dramatic pose, pointing to her with his arm fully extended, and said, "I'm not gonna put up with this! Nobody tells me what to do! For years it was, 'Get your lazy butt off your bunk, Beck; time to eat, Beck; time to exercise, Beck; wear stripes like everybody else, Beck.' I'm free now!"

Dori turned on her heel and strode out of the room. She had already crossed the threshold before she realized he must be referring to time spent in prison. Once again she was hit with waves of conflicting emotions, from a sneering condescension that that's what criminals deserved to near-panic that the police might arrive at any moment and take him away.

She continued walking, lost in misery, not noticing where her feet were taking her. She saw a stairway and climbed it, revealing a second floor, clearly disused. A ladder led to the roof. She climbed it and opened the roof hatch. It was overcast out, and windy, but not uncomfortable. She was in a flat-roofed two-story building attached to an immensely tall warehouse or factory of some kind.

She walked carefully to the edge of the roof and let the wind ruffle her skirt and hair. It was quiet and soothing out here. She seemed to be in a disused industrial district. The immediate neighborhood was silent. There was a great city in the distance, featuring enormous transparent domes whose purpose she could not guess. Between the domes were innumerable skyscrapers. Many were obviously abandoned. While she couldn't remember what she had known before, this all seemed strange to her, and sad.

Beck walked across the roof and stood near her. He looked out at the landscape for a while in silence. It was an impatient, fidgety silence, though, not like her meditation at all. He broke it after only a few seconds. "I'm sorry, Dori."

"Don't worry about it," she said, not looking at him.

There was another silence, then he remarked, "You know, anybody on the sidewalk could see right up your dress."

"You really are such a louse, Jason Beck!" she said, looking at him at last.

"Yeah, so I'm told."

The silence that followed was more companionable. After a while, Beck said, "When I decided to do this, I asked myself, 'How can I be sure everything's gonna work out?' And then I realized that I had it backwards. You have to believe _before_ you can make it happen."

"Does it work?"

"You're here, aren't you?"

"You just did the final preparation and pushed a button."

 _"After_ I found out you existed. _After_ I stole you from the most powerful man in the world. _After_ I saved the world by arranging his timely death at the hands of your sister's boyfriend. Sure. Piece of cake."

"You saved the world?"

"Ask anybody."

After a moment, she said, "All I have to do is believe?"

He shook his head, "Naw, that's for suckers. What I mean is, first you decide to do it, _then_ you figure out how. And even then nothing ever works the way you expected, so you keep working at it through all the twists and turns until you get there."

Dori was silent for a long time, then said, "I thought romance was spontaneous."

"Sometimes you find a million dollars in the street, sure. But usually you can't even steal it without a lot of work."

Dori said, "I'm ready for those checklists now, Jason."

He grinned crookedly. "That's my Dori."

They carried the full-length mirror from the bedroom into the workshop, and Dori disrobed. She felt shy about this and hesitated. Beck gallantly turned his back. Dori realized too late that he was watching in the mirror. Somehow, Beck's juvenile behavior seemed so normal (at least compared with everything else she was experiencing), that it was reassuring rather than infuriating. Anyway, if she complained about every annoying thing that Beck did, she'd never stop complaining.

She examined herself critically in the mirror. Amazing. She really could pass for human in the nude. She wouldn't have thought it possible. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble.

Her amnesia interfered, but she was sure she had been pale as a human, but not this pale. She looked good, though she was not exactly the same. Whoever had sculpted her had decided that it was important to give her a navel but that underarm hair, for example, could be dispensed with. She wasn't going to argue.

Beck, who had turned around at some point, tore his eyes off her and looked at the checklist. "Look closely at your face. Eyes, especially."

She did so. If she got very close to the mirror, she could tell the difference between her eyes and human eyes. They were very convincing, though. The pupils contracted with light and everything. She touched an eyeball and was surprised when she flinched.

"It's dry."

"Yeah. It looks wet because it's highly polished, but you don't have any tears. Check out the mouth next."

She did so, and was very impressed. She was a work of art and high technology both. Her teeth were very convincing; not quite perfectly regular. She made faces and stuck out her tongue. How was this range of motion achieved? She must have cost a fortune. "Why would anyone go to such trouble?"

"Anomalous, isn't it?" said Beck happily. "Beats the hell out of me. Every other model of android just has a speaker where the mouth should be. You form words with your tongue, teeth, and lips, like anybody else. And you can eat and drink without any trouble. We did that last week, as part of your calibration. No actual digestion, though. And you're very kissable."

She wondered if that was part of her calibration, too, but decided not to go there. "What happens to the food?"

"It passes through your digestive tract, such as it is, and leaves in the usual way."

She turned this way and that and examined herself in the mirror. "I must need periodic maintenance. Where are the access panels?"

"We'll get there in a minute. Note the hair band."

She reached up and touched it. It wasn't really a hair band.

"Open it," he said. Automatically, she did, and then didn't know how she'd done it. A tray slid out of her skull, with the hair band on the front. Resting in the tray was a gleaming disc.

"That disc has some of your backup memory and some of your programming," said Beck.

"Programming?"

"Well, backup data, mostly. Most of the programming and inhibitions are wired in; they're not removable like the disc. The more robotic parts of you are wired in, too, and the temporary stuff like your attachment to me."

"Temporary?"

"Oh, yeah, a whole bunch of stuff gets removed after a few months, and you're fully your own person again. Well, mostly. Once you've found your feet and have integrated all the robot stuff into your personality. And realized on your own that we were meant for each other."

"Has this happened to my sister?"

"I took her circuitry out myself. Rosewater needed it to fix up Big Fau. I thought I'd killed her. Scared me half to death when she woke up."

"Was she different afterwards?"

"For a while she was spooky as hell, but she was her old self after that, as far as I could see. Anyway, don't let people mess with the disc or the circuitry in your forehead. I did that to Dorothy more than once. I could take her over, though she always broke free one way or another."

He became very serious and said, "You're every bit as brave and resourceful as she is, Dori. Remember that. If you ever feel helpless, odds are you're being conned."

"I feel a little helpless now, Jason."

"Yeah, I know. But we're both working on it."

He had her stretch out one leg and put a foot on a workbench. He tickled the sole of her foot. She smiled but did not flinch. "Did you feel like flinching?" he asked.'

"Yes."

"Good. Reach down and feel your leg above the ankle."

She did so and was surprised. "It's hard."

"Yeah. Your arms and legs are an exoskeleton. All the works are inside. Cables and hydraulics and stuff. The skin over your ankles and knees is tricky, to hide the joints. Feel up higher."

"It's not so hard."

"There's padding starting above the knees, thank god. There's no need to conceal the hip joints because they're well below the surface."

"And my spine?" She flexed and watched herself in the mirror. She had a spine, all right.

"You've only got an exoskeleton on the arms and legs. Your spine, skull, and hips are pretty much human. Some of your ribs are functional and some are for show, but you'll look good by the pool."

He looked at the clipboard. "Access panels, you said. There are several, all pretty well concealed." He placed a hand on her ribs below her left breast. "I want you to open panel TL1."

She felt a brief whirring inside her chest, then a section of her rib cage swung aside, revealing a space tightly packed with machinery. The inside of the hinged section revealed gleaming titanium ribs.

"That's what little girls are made of," said Beck cheerfully. As Dori watched in the mirror, he pointed out items of interest, including hydraulic lines, electrical cables, and electronic control units that mimicked spinal and other nerve functions. By far the largest item was a golden sphere about six inches in diameter, which Beck referred to mysteriously as the "reactor." A number of large electrical cables and hydraulic lines attached to it. After identifying a few items, he asked her about others. She was not surprised when their names appeared in her mind without any effort of recollection.

Dori was both fascinated and upset by this trip to her interior and the reminder that there were thoughts in her mind that were not her own.

Beck, perhaps recognizing this, had her close the access hatch and run her fingers over the seam until the skin melded together again. "There you are, good as new," he said soothingly. "We'll do the rest of the list later." He scanned the next few steps and said, "Yeah. Later."

"Jason, are there more androids like me?"

"Just your sister, as far as I know. There used to be more. Not just Wayneright androids; I mean Class M androids."

"Class M?"

"For 'Megadeus.'"

"What's a Megadeus?"

The phone rang. Beck looked at it with distaste, then crossed to answer it. Over his shoulder he said, "Get dressed."

Dori dressed quickly. She found Beck easy to read; he thought this phone call was trouble.

"Beck," said Beck into the phone. He listened to the caller's monologue in growing impatience, then growled angrily, "Alright, alright! Ten minutes."

He turned to Dori, his eyes widening. "That was fast."

Dori adjusted the brooch at her throat and said, "Where are we going?"

"You're not going anywhere. I'm going to meet a business associate."

Dori followed him as he strode out of the room. He walked through a door onto the floor of the factory, or warehouse, or whatever the building was. It was pitch black beyond the pool of light cast by a single bulb over the door they had just walked through. A blue four-door sedan with dark windows stood in the gloom.

Dori walked straight to the passenger door and opened it.

"Dori!"

Dori gazed levelly at him. He muttered something under his breath and got in on the driver's side. She got in on the passenger's side.

A garage door opened automatically as he pulled forward, and soon they were driving down the road.

"Stay in the car," said Beck. "The people I'm going to meet will be spooked if they see you. And whatever you do, don't hurt anyone."

"Why not?"

"Because you can't. Inhibitions. Bad things will happen if you try. You'll be lucky if you just faint. If something happens to me, go to your sister. No, wait. You don't know where she lives. Damn it! … Here, take the watch off my wrist and put it on. If you need help, press the crystal down hard and say, "Big B! It's showtime!"

"What will happen?"

"Help will arrive within a minute or two. Roger Smith will probably arrive after that, and your sister with him."

"What about you?"

"I can talk my way out of almost anything. Otherwise, get Roger and Dorothy to help you spring me. They'll listen to you."

They drove into the open door of an abandoned warehouse. Another car was already there. Beck turned off the ignition and got out of the car, leaving his door open.

Two men got out of the other car. They were both middle-aged, wearing somewhat worn and rumpled suits. You could imagine them as bookkeepers or shoe store clerks, except that they had hard, wary expressions. One was tall and bald, the other was shorter and had wavy gray hair and a walrus mustache.

Beck said, "Alright, guys, what the hell do you want?"

The bald one said, "Your new buddies robbed all three warehouses we were going to hit next week."

Beck was furious. "Those bastards!" He stabbed an accusing finger at the two men. "Damn it, why didn't you stop them?"

"There were a couple of dozen of them, Beck. We called you when it happened, but some broad answered and said you were out."

Beck paced up and down, talking to himself, cursing and complaining and gesticulating wildly. He stopped suddenly. "You weren't followed, were you?"

Dori suddenly became aware of something that had been nagging at her. She was hearing the conversation twice; once through her ears, and again through … through …

She got out of the car and walked slowly towards that of the two men, ignoring them completely. When she reached the front bumper, she bent down and felt behind it. There was a small box there, about the size of a fat paperback. She pulled it off—it had been held on by powerful magnets. It was a radio transmitter. There was a built-in microphone, and a cable going back into the car that probably attached to power and another microphone under the dashboard.

Beck raised his fingers to his lips theatrically and winked, but the two men weren't looking at him. "What the hell is that?" asked the mustachioed one loudly. "Is it a bomb?"

Dori thought that this was a good question. She jerked the box free of its cables and threw it as hard as she could towards the distant back wall of the warehouse. It arced high in the air and disappeared into the gloom. Then there was a crash as it hit the far wall, and a point of light appeared where it had punched a hole through the rusty metal siding.

"Nice toss," said Beck smugly.

"Hey! Isn't that Roger Smith's girlfriend?" said the bald one, retreating a step.

Dori said nothing. Beck said, "Naw, this is her little sister."

"Geez, I guess it's true about them being androids."

"Just clean living and pure thoughts," said Beck. "Well, I'd love to stay here all day and talk to you fellas, but don't you think we ought to get the hell out of here before we're ambushed or something?"

"Yeah," said the mustachioed one, nodding. "We'll call you from someplace new."

As they walked to their respective cars, they became aware of a thumping outside, like a pile driver in the distance.

"Uh-oh," said Beck. "Where's it coming from, Dori?"

She pointed the way they had come. "Over there, about a quarter of a mile."

Beck stood still for a second, then, turning to the two men, he said, "Get out of here. I'll cover for you." They needed no encouragement and left seconds later in a squeal of tires.

"Damn it!" shouted Beck. "If it's a fight they want, a fight they'll get! No more mister nice guy!" He turned to Dori. "Use the watch, Dori!"

She jammed the crystal down. The face of the watch lit up, and she called out. "Big B! It's showtime!"

Beck took the watch and put it back on his wrist. He looked around and then at the watch. After a few mental calculations, he grabbed her wrist and said, "Come on!"

They ran toward one of the back corners of the building. The thudding outside was coming closer and becoming very loud. From their vantage point they saw a giant robot, perhaps sixty feet high, come in through the front of the warehouse. The door was only twenty feet high, but the robot didn't care. With a screech of tortured metal, it was soon inside.

The robot was very blocky and boxlike, with simple arms and legs and a squat, cylindrical head. No neck. The head swiveled left and right, seeking them.

Dori looked at Beck, who was grinning. "Won't be long now," he said.

As they waited, Dori began to feel strange. Feelings that were not her own started to pound away at her. They were so loud in her head that she couldn't make out their meaning; it was just a roar. It was beginning to interfere with her thinking and movements.

All at once, the floor of the warehouse erupted, and a second giant robot emerged from the rubble. This one was larger and much older, showing the weathered remnants of its original paint: yellow with black trim. It was rounded all over. Instead of pincers, it had five-fingered hands.

Dori found herself standing up straight in mimicry of the new robot. Then, all at once, she felt compelled to run towards it. She leapt up and ran, Beck at her side. The new robot bent over and reached out a hand. Suddenly, the command to run left Dori's head, and before she could regain control of her own movements, she was bending down and reaching out a hand just as the robot was doing. The robot's hand reached them and Beck climbed aboard, pulling at her to follow. Suddenly, she felt compelled to clamber up. Once on the palm, the robot lifted them to an area at its throat, where a hatch was opening. Dori was consumed with impatience. She had to get inside! She leaped from the palm as soon as she was close enough and ran into the room beyond.

Beck followed a moment later. The compulsion to run had left her again, and once again she failed to regain control of her body and was mimicking the movements of the yellow robot, who was straightening and raising its fists like a pugilist. Beck quickly opened a drawer and pulled out something that looked like a gold tiara. He stepped across to Dori and opened the slot in her forehead, attached the tiara, and closed it again.

Suddenly, the roar in her head and the compulsions were nothing but whispers. Dori's mind and body were her own again.

"Are you okay, Dori?" asked Beck.

"I think so," said Dori.

"Good. Hang on tight," said Beck grinning, as he rushed into the cockpit at the center of the room, where a red command chair was surrounded by controls. As he sat down, a video monitor raised from the floor, sealing the entrance. A transparent dome lowered over the cockpit, sealing him off.

A pair of hand controls slid down slots from behind the chair, and he grasped them, shouting, "Big B! Action!"

The robot surged into motion. Dori could feel the aggressive, joyous, focused menace that was shared between Beck and this robot, Big B. Beck slammed the left hand control forward, and Big B threw a roundhouse punch at the other robot, which took a step back to avoid it. As this was happening, a brilliant lance of flame emerged from Big B's right hand. With a complex set of operations on the foot pedals and hand controls, Beck made Big B lunge at the other robot with the plasma lance.

The robot took another step back. It was smaller and slower than Big B, and nowhere near so limber. Six nozzles extended through its torso. Gouts of flame poured out, covering Big B with burning napalm.

"What else has it got, Dori?" asked Beck.

She stared the robot through the enormous transparent panel in Big B's throat. The smoke outside and the flames on the panel were obscuring her vision, but she could see no other weapons. She could feel the heat on her face, but it wasn't uncomfortable. As she gazed at the robot, information started to pour into her mind. Big B was telling her things, and she was sensing others by herself. After a few seconds, the picture became clear. "It's lightly armed, Jason. Flame-throwers and machine guns. Most of its midsection is empty." She looked at Beck, and was surprised to see sweat pouring down his face. The heat was getting to him, even under the cockpit dome, yet she wasn't the least uncomfortable. A statistic floated into her mind: the temperature of her face had risen to two hundred and sixty degrees.

Big B stepped backwards, then extended his left arm. His hand had retracted. Dori realized that his entire forearm was a big-bore, slow-firing cannon. Beck fired at the seam between the robot's head and body from a distance of twenty feet. Big B rocked from the recoil.

The shell penetrated only partway into the robot, and was visible for perhaps a quarter of a second before the fuze, set too long, finally exploded the shell. The robot's head was flung from its body, departing the warehouse through the roof.

"Where's the son of a bitch with the remote control?" snarled Beck. Dori winced inwardly at his bad language. Big B already knew the answer to this, and soon Dori understood and pointed out the location. Beck put Big B into a fast walk, almost a run, that closed the distance in no time.

The remote control unit was built into a suitcase, and the man running had set up a little folding table and a camp stool next to his car. Everything had happened so quickly that Big B was practically on top of him before he tried to flee.

Beck raised Big B's foot and went to squash the man, stopping at the last instant.

With Big B's foot poised in the air, Beck turned on the P.A. system and asked, "Would you like to surrender? You've got one second to decide."

"Yes, please, please, I surrender!" gabbled the man.

Beck shifted Big B's foot and squashed the car instead.

"Go back and tell your boss that he's got the wrong idea," snarled Beck. "I play fair. I stick by my bargains. I'm an honest crook. Your bosses are idealists, and that means that they're sons of bitches who can't be trusted an inch."

Dori said, "Language, Jason."

Beck was startled. "What?"

"Please don't use the stronger swear words," said Dori.

Beck rolled his eyes, then grinned. "Anything you say, Dori. How about hells and damns?"

"All right."

Beck returned to his harangue. "So get the hell out of here and tell your damned bosses that I'm one hell of a nice guy, so they get one more chance, which is more than they damned well deserve."

Their former attacker ran off.

Beck watched him go, then pulled out a black silk handkerchief and mopped his face. He raised the cockpit dome. "God, it's hot in here," he said. "You okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Big B treating you all right? It's not his fault that he was overloading you, early on. He couldn't help it."

"When he talks to me, I can't make out the words."

Beck grinned, delighted. "You will later. And you'll learn to manage the communications, too, so you don't get overwhelmed. I'm glad I invented that attenuator, though."

Dori touched the tiara-like device on her head. It had been a godsend.

Beck got up and stepped out of the cockpit. He waved his handkerchief in the air. "Big B, I want you to meet Dori. Dori, Big B. I hope you'll be friends."

Big B said something to Dori. She couldn't make out the words, but it had to be something like "Pleased to meet you." It carried emotional overtones that were clearer than the words: delight that Dori had arrived, pride in Beck as a pilot, and, strangely, a tender, gentle devotion to her. It was an odd thing to sense from a robot who was over a hundred feet tall. Under all this were other feelings, including dread of another long loneliness and a deep-seated fear of madness.

Dori took it all in—she had to, she was defenseless—with wonder. "Jason?"

"Hmmm?"

"Big B loves me."

Beck rolled his eyes. "Geez Louise, Dori, what's strange about that? Anybody with a lick of sense would love you!"

"That's not true."

"Well, okay, I'll level with you. Big B here, in addition to having impeccable taste, needs an android. It takes three people to run a Megadeus properly. It takes the Dominus, or pilot—that's me. It takes the Megadeus, of course. That's Big B. And it takes a Class M android. That's you. But not just any Class M android; it has to be the right Class M android. That's still you."

Dori wasn't sure about this, but changed the subject. "Where did you find Big B, Jason?"

Beck said, "It's a long story, but the short version is, Big B was asleep and didn't wake up fast enough to prevent this screwball from hotwiring him and switching him to manual control. The screwball marched Big B downtown and attacked Big O outside the domes. During the fight the hotwiring was damaged and Big B reasserted himself. He killed the interloper and then went all quiet, standing perfectly still in the middle of the street. I couldn't stay away. Big B called to me, I guess. I walked up for a closer look, the foot hatch opened, and the next thing I knew I was in the command seat."

"Is that when you started wearing yellow and black?"

"Naw, those were always my colors. They were always Big B's colors, too."

"Coincidence?" asked Dori.

"Not a chance," said Beck. "But I'm not sure what it means."

There was a chime and a face appeared on one of the monitors. It was an elderly man with an eye patch and a long white mustache. After a moment a second monitor lit up, and a young man—a _very_ _handsome_ young man—with tousled black hair and a sleepy, irritated expression growled, "What is it, Norman?"

"Master Roger, I am sorry to wake you, but there has been a Megadeus battle three miles north of the city."

The picture danced around wildly as Roger Smith got out of bed. The camera was apparently part of something he was holding in his hand. It stopped gyrating for a moment, and, at the edge of the picture, Dori saw herself walking calmly into the room.

Roger Smith said, "Hello, Dorothy. Norman, I'll see to it right away."

Both monitors went blank.

Beck said, "Well, time for us to vanish." He set Big B back into motion, returning to the warehouse. He didn't notice that Dori had frozen at the sight of Roger Smith and her sister, R. Dorothy Wayneright.

She knew Roger Smith. They had been lovers, back when she was human.

But was that even possible?

She shook herself. Of course not. Any more than her image of herself as a golden-haired little girl was possible. She had always been a redhead when she was human, and was blonde now only because of a whim of Beck's. And anyone who had loved her forty years ago would be old by now. Roger Smith was a young man, about the same age as Beck.

Dori was alarmed. Was her imagination playing tricks on her, looking for a way out? Silently, she asked Big B, _What should I do?_

Big B reassured her that everything was going to turn out fine. She was new to all this, was all. Big B was her Megadeus and Beck was her Dominus. She was their android. They would love her and take care of her always.

"Hang on," said Beck.

Big B slid down into the crater he had created. He stopped when he had descended down to his waist. Beck opened the throat hatch and he and Dori stepped out onto Big B's palm. Big B set them down on the floor of the warehouse and continued his descent.

By some miracle, Beck's car was undamaged. They got in and Beck drove off quickly.

"He's getting back into the underground transporter that'll take him back to Hangar B," said Beck. "Old Crowboy can probably trace us if he ever feels super motivated, but I've installed a couple of harmless diversion that'll buy us enough time."

Dori turned around in her seat to scan for pursuit. The streets were empty. "That was my sister, on the screen," she said over her shoulder.

"Yeah."

"Are she and Roger Smith lovers?"

"Old Crowboy once denied it, but I'm pretty sure they are," said Beck. After a moment he added, "They're a pair of fourteen-carat idiots if they aren't."

There was a long silence, then Dori guessed, "Roger Smith has a Megadeus, doesn't he?"

"Yeah. Big O."

"Is he nice?"

"Nice? Big O? Beats the hell out of me," said Beck. "Can't say I ever thought about it." After a pause, he added, "Anyone following us?"

"No." She turned around and sat back down. Beck patted the seat next to him and she scooted over. He put an arm around her and she snuggled up against him. She could feel the tension drain out of him. Once again, she felt safe and loved. She looked up at his face. He wore a goofy smile. He loved her; he really did. Was she trapped in an artificial relationship, or had she found her true home?

 _I get to choose,_ she realized. _I must choose._ _All I have to do to ruin everything is to remain divided._

She had a brief vision of helping her father in his laboratory. He wore a white linen suit, as he did in all seasons, and he was giving her hand signals as she operated the control box of the overhead hoist, lowering an experimental chromebuster unit onto a waiting cradle. She remembered that, as she did this, in the back of her mind she was thinking with teenaged disapproval about how eccentric, unmanageable, and _embarrassing_ her father was. But, at the same time, she knew that they made a fine team. The real problem was, she was the junior partner, little more than a lab assistant, and always would be.

The vision faded, and she saw Beck once more. He was at least as eccentric and embarrassing as her father, and lacked the polish and manners that concealed her father's underlying ruthlessness. _But with Jason, I will be an equal partner._ And she knew she had already made her choice.

Beck pulled into their warehouse garage and turned off the ignition. He looked down at her. "You okay?"

She smiled, and he smiled back, then bent down and kissed her.

After a moment, she heard, as if from a great distance, "Wow."

She opened her eyes. _How can I feel breathless when I don't even breathe?_

Beck laughed his horrible, crowing laugh, then stopped abruptly. "Let's go inside. We'll be more comfortable."

They got out of the car and walked into the apartment. In the living room, Dori turned and put her arms around him. "I love you, Jason Beck," she said.

"Of course you do. You're programmed to," he said.

She slapped his face.

The next thing she knew, she was lying on the floor, dizzy and disoriented. Something dripped on her face. She opened her eyes and Beck recoiled suddenly, scrabbling for his handkerchief and wiping his eyes.

"You're crying," she said.

"Well, it stings." There was a livid handprint where she had slapped his face. She gazed steadily at him. He met her gaze, looking for all the world like a little boy trying to be brave before a beating.

She said, "Jason Beck, you are the most annoying man in the world."

"Yeah, I know. And you're no slouch yourself," he said.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Here, let me help you up."

He hoisted her to her feet, put his arms around her waist, and asked, "Now, where were we?"

She showed him.

 **[We Have Come to Terms]**


	2. Dori the Cat Burglar

**Dori the Cat Burglar**

Dori climbed the brick wall, holding on with fingers and toes. Her hands and feet were bare. She wore a skin-tight black leather catsuit. She wished she'd chosen something else, as it brought out surprisingly unprofessional behavior in her boyfriend, Jason Beck. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. A large black leather purse was slung over her back.

The climb had gone well. Dori was an android, very strong, though she looked just like a petite, frail teen-ager. She never got tired. On the other hand, she weighed almost 300 pounds, and it was a long way down. Six stories.

She reached the seventh-floor window and examined it carefully by the artificial starlight of the dome, far overhead. No one had ever gotten around to hooking the seventh floor up to the alarm system, Beck said, except for the fire escapes and the windows on either side. The windows were barred, though. An ornamental iron grille, all in one piece, was bolted to the brickwork.

Dori climbed until she could stand on the window sill—the gaps in the grille were wide enough to put a foot through. She clipped her belt to the grille and pulled out a brace and bit. She quickly drilled a hole in the wall above the grille and installed an anchor attached to a large metal ring. She used a short length of rope to secure her belt to the ring, unclipped herself from the grille, then installed a second anchor above the grille. She tied this ring to the grille with another length of rope. Then, one corner at a time, she pulled the wrought-iron grille's bolts straight out of the wall. Superhuman strength was very convenient. The bolts groaned a little, except for one whose head popped off suddenly, almost causing Dori to overbalance.

The grille still looked as if it were attached, though it was merely dangling from its ring. Not that anyone on the ground could get a good look at it, but people might look out from the building across the alley. There wasn't enough weather inside the dome to make the grille rattle on stormy nights, so her work might go undetected for years.

Dori swung the grille aside. The double-hung window wasn't even latched. She opened it and stepped into the darkened room.

All was quiet. This was a luxury apartment. The occupants were spending the week at the resort dome. Dori allowed the light built into her forehead to turn on. Seeing the light switch near the door, she turned the room lights on—room lights were less suspicious to any outside observers than a dancing beam. She looked around. She was in a wealthy man's office, with expensive books on the wall, a huge polished wooden desk, and several excellent paintings and sculptures.

The painting behind the desk concealed the wall safe, Beck had told her. Dori checked. It was hinged on the left side, as if the owner used the safe too often to wish to constantly re-hang the picture. The safe was recessed into the wall so the combination lock and the door handle would not stick out. As Beck had predicted, it was a Burleigh wall safe.

Beck had discovered a flaw in the Burleigh lock design that made it unusually easy to pick, though its reputation was that it was totally uncrackable. A feature that was supposed to make it impossible to open by feel really did work—but only for the first number of the combination. Once you had the first number, you felt a faint thunk as you passed the second one, provided you were putting pressure very gently on the door handle. Too much pressure and you jammed the lock. Most of the trick was in getting the pressure just right. So you started by assuming that the first number was zero, and spun the dial all the way around. If you didn't feel the thunk, you went on to the next number. It was a very good lock otherwise, and wouldn't open unless you aligned the numbers just right, so dialing a 97 when the combination called for 98 meant the safe wouldn't open. Most safes gave you a margin of plus or minus two—if the right number was 97, anything between 95 and 99 would work. Not the Burleigh.

But first, Dori tried several common combinations; ones used by fools. The Burleigh factory had shipped all locks with the combination 10-20-30. No dice. She tried pi: 31-41-59. Then the ever-popular 36-24-36. The owner's birthday was next, and that of the previous owner. No luck.

She then started going through the combinations. She wasn't particularly fast, not with work this delicate, but she didn't have to be. She only had 100 combinations to try. Try 1 as the first number and spin the dial in the reverse direction. Nothing. Now 2. Now 3.

She felt the tumbler fall when the first number was 44. Because she had spun the dial quickly, she wasn't sure when the second number had been. No matter. She tried again. First number 44. Now go for the second number, very slowly—there! 54.

Now for the third number. Still with very gentle pressure on the door handle, she turned the dial, and felt a distinct change when she reached the right number—64. She released the handle, then turned it firmly.

The safe opened.

There were a few file folders and a jewelry box. She opened the box.

"Ooh," she said. There it was, just as Beck had promised. A diamond necklace with matching earrings. It was worth two million dollars.

Dori had never thought much about jewelry before. There was something fascinating, hypnotic, about this piece. She turned it this way and that in the light, and felt a strong temptation to put it on. For a minute or two, she was mesmerized by the masterpiece in her hands.

Abruptly remembering her mission, she extended the tray in her forehead and pulled out a tiny parcel from the storage compartment Beck had installed there. It contained replicas in artificial stones. Side by side, the real necklace was clearly superior, but perhaps it would pass muster when viewed by itself. Dori made the switch and closed her forehead tray with the real stones inside.

Next, she flipped through the file folders. Beck was fussy about the things he took from safes. He didn't like registered securities or other hard-to-fence items. He loved incriminating photographs and other evidence of hanky-panky; the victims were unlikely to involve the police. Beck especially loved blackmailing a blackmailer.

What in the world? One slim file folder held three ghastly photographs and a few sheets of paper. The photographs were of the gruesome surgical type. Were those boxes and cables medical, or was she looking at the creation of a cyborg? No matter. She stepped into the light and ran her eye over all the pages. She had a photographic memory. Then she put the pages and file folders back into the safe. Satisfied that it looked just as it had when she had arrived, the closed the door, spun the lock back to zero, and returned the picture. All done.

Go back the way she came, or out the front door? Rappelling down would likely go unnoticed, but if she were seen, the alarm would be raised, and that would be bad. Going out the front door meant she'd likely be seen, but it was unlikely that she would be identified with the crime, assuming it was ever discovered at all.

She carefully rearranged the contents of her purse. Then she pulled out a lipstick and a compact and did herself up with a reptilian green eye shadow and cherry-red lipstick. She put a pair of spike-heeled sandals on her feet and examined her artificial fingernails. The scarlet color was built right in, since Beck hadn't wanted nail polish to spall off onto the scene of the crime. They were a little abraded from the climb, but would pass muster. Then she made sure the window was closed and wiped up a little dirt tracked inside when she had entered.

She left through the front door of the apartment, turning out the light behind her, and entering the plush corridor beyond. It was empty. She went down two flights of stairs, then took the elevator down to the lobby.

The security man in the lobby, half asleep, woke up with a start as she walked past.

"Hey!" he called after her. Dori kept on walking. He hesitated a moment, then got up and ran to cut her off.

Dori stopped, turned to face him, and put her hands on her hips. "What?" she demanded.

"I didn't see you come in here," he said. After a moment, he added, "Miss."

Dori smiled, "That was the idea, sweetie. My client would have been embarrassed. If I have to call him down to vouch for me, he won't like it."

The guard hesitated. Among other things, this gave him more time to look her up and down. Finally he said, "Show me what's in your purse."

Dori sighed and opened it. She pulled out items one at a time. "Panties," she said. "Handcuffs. Diaphragm …"

"Stop!" said the guard, embarrassed. He hesitated.

Dori pulled out a business card and handed it to him. It contained nothing but a phone number. "Special discount for understanding guys," she said. "Gotta run, sweetie. Bye-bye!" And she walked out. He made no move to stop her.

She was leaning against a lamp post two blocks away when Beck pulled up in his car. She looked at him in a bored way and asked, "Need a date, honey?"

"Yeah," said Beck, "But don't tell my girlfriend." She got into the car and they drove off.

When they were a few blocks away, he asked, "How did it go?"

"No problems."

He glanced at her. As usual, her face looked calm and composed, her posture, perfect. "Did you enjoy it?"

"No."

"Are you upset?"

Dori felt a flash of irritation; personal questions bothered her. But she had recently decided that this was a character flaw and had resolved to become open instead. Not only open, but trusting, even innocent; deliberately tearing town her emotional defenses. The results had been little short of amazing! And it was becoming second nature. Well, some of the time. She waited for her irritation to fade. "Lying is hard," she said at last.

"Hell, I'm sorry, Dori. I thought the role-playing would make it easier."

"It … I … but …" Dori took control of herself. "It's easy when it's a game. But not if the other person doesn't know the rules." She was silent for a long moment, then added. "Don't worry, Jason. I'm fine."

"Yeah," he said, noncommittally. Then, "You're sure it's okay when the other person knows it's a game?"

She scooted over next to him and put a hand on his knee. "Drive faster, sweetie!" she squealed. "I can't wait until you get me home!"

Beck laughed his horrible cackling laugh and stepped on the accelerator.

* * *

Agent 103, known to his friends as Mitchell Renfrew, stopped his motorcycle at the top of a dune and looked around. Satisfied, he raised his goggle, swung out of the saddle, and walked around to the sidecar. He unfastened the tanneau and extended a large directional antenna, then pulled out the control box and turned it on. After allowing it to warm up, he turned the antenna very slowly in a circle. At 305 degrees, he got a faint reading.

He tried the other band. He got another reading, also at 305 degrees.

His hands shook as he got out the map. This was it! He drew a line on the map very carefully, using a ruler. Then he put his equipment away and selected a dune in the distance. He would triangulate from there. Where the lines on his map crossed, he would find a Megadeus.

* * *

Roger half-woke as the clock struck eleven. Was it morning already? Still groggy, he opened one eye and quickly shut it again. Dorothy had opened the curtains while he slept.

Piano music filtered softly into the bedroom. Dorothy would not switch to jangling, crashing music for a while yet.

He and Dorothy had quickly settled on a routine, once they had become lovers. Since she did not sleep, it didn't seem right to ask her to spend the whole night with him. She stayed with him, cuddling close, until he was sound asleep, then left quietly. In the morning she left him alone, except for her piano playing, until, grumpy and disheveled, he emerged from the bedroom—as he was doing now. He supposed this might sound a little cold to an outsider—not that they ever discussed their relationship with outsiders. But it could hardly be further from the truth.

Roger smiled in recollection. When they had returned home at the end of that terrible day, when they had fought Big Fau and talked Angel and Big Venus around, they both knew they would become lovers that night. Roger had expected certain difficulties, since Dorothy was an android and presumably inexperienced as well. But he thought of himself as a suave, skilled lover and no doubt everything would work out in time.

So he had been unprepared when their first kiss behind closed doors had stripped his condescension away, and almost his consciousness as well. They both had been seized by a mad, frenzied urgency; a passion so intense that he had few connected memories of it. Just odd recollections of touch, cries, motion, and the rending of cloth. In the morning he had been amazed to discover the tatters that had been their clothes.

And it had been just the same the next night. And the next. Dorothy's wardrobe was becoming sadly depleted. Roger suspected that his role as the suave lover was gone forever. Dorothy began avoiding the bedroom in the morning after he missed an important appointment, and she now changed into sleepwear after midnight, which she hadn't done previously. It saved wear and tear on her custom-tailored dresses. But if he kissed her twice in the morning instead of once, all bets were off. Characteristically, they hadn't discussed any of this. They never discussed their relationship at all.

Roger emerged from his bedroom, walking a little unsteadily, still sleepy.

Dorothy stopped playing and crossed the penthouse to greet him. She looked trim and controlled and absolutely adorable in her black dress. He smiled as they embraced. Dorothy wasn't smiling—she rarely smiled—but she was happy. In his arms, she felt warm and very much alive—when had he started thinking of her as being more alive than human women? She smelled wonderful, too, in a way that bypassed the thinking part of his brain entirely and made his heart race. He suspected she had borrowed perfume from Angel.

Dorothy raised her face to be kissed. Roger, still smiling, kissed her. Her lips were soft and warm. A moment later he was breathless and dizzy. Dorothy swayed a little. They steadied each other. He smiled down at her. "Good morning."

"Good morning, Roger." They gazed into each others' eyes for a moment, then looked away.

Norman appeared with the coffee. "Good morning, Master Roger."

"Hello, Norman."

Roger drifted towards the balcony. He wouldn't feel like real conversation until he'd finished his first cup of coffee, maybe his second. Twenty minutes of quiet, or a little inconsequential talk, and then he'd breakfast, shower, and dress, and be ready for whatever the day threw at him.

Angel was on the balcony, pacing back and forth like a caged tiger. Roger groaned inwardly. Dorothy had insisted that Angel move into the mansion, for reasons she could not explain. It wasn't just her injuries, now healed, or the increasingly ridiculous notion that she'd return to the Union. Mostly Roger didn't mind, since he was fond of Angel and usually liked having her around. Norman had assigned Angel a particularly fine guest bedroom on the eighth floor, one that, in practice, was reserved for guests Norman approved of. Interesting.

Roger had half-expected Angel to make a play for him, but she never had, beyond a baseline level of flirtation that seemed as much a part of her as breathing. He'd fully expected the two women to be at each other's throats night and day, but this hadn't happened, either. Angel treated Dorothy like an unexploded bomb, and Dorothy was kind to Angel, but remote. Angel had needed kindness after that horrible day when the world had changed, because the eight puncture wounds in her back had needed tending, and Angel had been a wreck emotionally, too.

But Angel seemed incapable of grasping Roger's desire for routine, especially in the morning. Sometimes she respected his rules and sometimes she ignored them. Angel was volatile, and when she was in one of her moods, other people's steadiness annoyed her.

Angel looked up, startled. "Is it lunchtime already?" She crossed to Roger and gave him a peck on the cheek. "Sorry, Roger, I'll leave you to your meditations." She stalked out.

"What was that all about?" asked Roger.

Norman replied, "General Dastun asked Miss Angel to review some reports. Their contents upset her. She is trying to calm down before she meets him for lunch."

Roger decided not to pursue this line of questioning until after breakfast. He leaned on the parapet and looked out over the city, sipping his coffee. Another fine day, with only a high overcast. Dorothy hopped up onto the parapet and gazed out, too.

"Anything interesting in the news?" he asked. Dorothy had taken to reading every word of the paper before he awoke.

Without turning her head, Dorothy said, "Crime is down sharply."

"What?" Roger was swamped with cases involving negotiations for the return of stolen property.

"All categories showed marked declines," she said.

"Then why am I so busy?" he asked.

"Have your clients reported their property stolen?"

"No." The thieves were more interested in ransoming the stolen goods than fencing them. It was more lucrative and less risky. The owners and their insurance companies kept things quiet and ransomed the goods readily if the thieves weren't too greedy. He saw her point. "They're not participating in the statistics."

He drained his cup and Norman appeared at his elbow to refill it. Roger said, "Still, we're having quite a crime wave in our little neck of the woods."

* * *

Dori sat at a workbench, replacing last night's red fingernails. They were not ordinary artificial fingernails, but had been custom-made for her. They were a strong, high-temperature composite that looked just like the real thing. They were also held on with an annoyingly strong glue. Removing them was one of the few things so far that caused her actual pain. Not much, but some. It made her feel human. As a Class M android, Dori rarely felt pain. It wasn't that her sense of pain was impaired, it was just that, as a very strong and tough android, her pain responses didn't peak until she was withstanding forces that would kill a human instantly.

She smiled to herself as she worked. Beck had really outdone himself when they got home. That ridiculous catsuit and their silly role-playing had unleashed something primal in both of them. She suspected that they had been treating things too seriously, before; had been too careful of one another's feelings; had held themselves back. Last night, she had just barely gotten out of the tough leather catsuit without ripping it.

Dori was beginning to see a pattern in how things were working out. As a Class M android, she was strong and rugged and knew just about everything about how Megadeuses were put together. She could repair Big B in the middle of combat, where the ability to withstand minor explosions and other inconveniences was important. She was partly telepathic with her Megadeus, which helped her take care of him, physically and emotionally. A Megadeus was a person, not just a machine. Dori was also very human, and could connect on every level with her Dominus. She wondered if every Class M android was lovers with her Dominus. Probably. It was the most natural thing in the world.

Beck claimed that Dorothy had lived all those months in the same house with Roger Smith and Big O, but that nothing had happened until recently. That was hard to believe! Beck probably had his facts wrong.

Beck had been surprised that Dori had taken to a life of crime. He had gained the impression that she was an extremely moral person. She wasn't sure that was quite right. She was certainly a very _loyal_ person. And she wanted to help keep Beck safe and, yes, to make sure he didn't cause any more damage than necessary. Helping him was her best way of preventing excessive violence and keeping him sane. Was that her human self talking or her android conditioning? Either way, she told herself firmly, it was the truth.

Beck walked in just as Dori was finishing. "You're wearing the black dress again," he said.

"The dress and the catsuit are the only clothes I have. You really are such a louse, Jason Beck!"

Beck smiled and held out his arms. She stood up and embraced him.

"What do you think about the next job?" he asked as he stroked her hair.

"I don't know."

"Do you know anything about cats?"

"I don't think so," she said. Her amnesia made it hard to be sure.

"You don't mind kidnapping one?"

She looked up into his face, troubled. "Will it be very sad, do you think?"

"I doubt it," he said. "It's only eight weeks old. It probably can't tell one person from another."

* * *

Agent 103 had the Megadeus pinpointed to within a hundred yards or so. It was underground, in an area consisting of abandoned commercial buildings—small, flimsy offices and light manufacturing establishments. Nothing that could conceal a Megadeus. He had marked his map carefully and had noted local landmarks. It was time to report his find.

He sighed. It wasn't like the old days. Things had gone wrong. They'd gone wrong even before Vera had died. Vera had turned the movement into a freak show. In the privacy of his own mind, Agent 103 felt that things had gone downhill fast when Alan Gabriel had been allowed to join. And now, with Gordon and Alex Rosewater dead, a lot of the fire had gone out of the surviving members.

Things were so bad that they'd welcomed Jason Beck with open arms as their new robotics genius. Admittedly, Beck was amazing at this, every bit as skilled as he claimed to be, but he wasn't really interested in the Union. He barely pretended otherwise. But there was no help for it. Beck's assistance would be essential in getting this new Megadeus under control.

Agent 103 packed the gear back into his sidecar, started his motorcycle on the third kick, and rode off.

* * *

Roger drove towards the foundry at the edge of town. Dorothy was in the passenger seat, looking straight ahead. Their architects recommended this foundry as the source for the new armored steel doors for Smith Manor—doors that would allow Big O to exit directly into the street. Roger wanted to see their factory and talk to their engineers. These doors were going to be expensive. He also intended to armor-plate various parts of the mansion, and wanted to discuss this with experts. Armor plate was more than just big slabs of sheet metal.

He glanced over at Dorothy and smiled. She had taken a strong interest in architecture and architectural drawing. His Dorothy had hidden depths! She'd also been assisting Norman and in his search for a new weapon for Big O, who had a huge empty space in his chest where the Final Stage had been. Roger was not yet involved in this effort. Maybe he should be. Not because Dorothy and especially Norman wouldn't do a great job. He could count on them. But because he and Dorothy took deep satisfaction in working together.

They arrived at the foundry and walked in through the main doors. Once inside they stopped and gaped. A huge retort of molten steel had come partly unmoored from an overhead trolley system and was swinging crazily from its remaining cables, with sloshes of molten steel pouring down at random, tons of it per slosh. Workmen were running in all directions. As they watched, a cascade of white-hot steel fell onto a running man, who died not quite instantly.

A huddle of four men was trapped on a metal platform a few feet off the floor, cut off by a sea of molten steel. They had their jackets over their heads to try to protect their lungs from the searing heat, but they couldn't last long.

Roger ran towards them, keeping an eye overhead. The metal wasn't raining down here; not anymore. Near the edge of the puddle he fired his wrist grapnel at an overhead girder that was a short distance beyond the platform. Just before he started reeling it in he felt Dorothy fling her arms around his neck. He placed his right wrist over his left, triggered the grapnel, and soon the two of them were swinging through the air. Dorothy's weight was almost unbearable, and the two of them hit the deck of the platform with a bone-jarring thud.

"One at a time!" called Roger. One of the men seemed almost unconscious. Roger hoisted him to his feet. The man found the strength to get his arms firmly around Roger's neck, and Roger continued his interrupted swing. He'd put the grapnel in just the right place, beyond the platform, and they swung beyond the edge of the puddle on the far side.

Now came the tricky part. Because the grapnel was almost directly overhead, Roger couldn't use it easily to swing the thirty feet back to the platform. But if he released it and rewound it, the cord might fall into the molten metal and be destroyed.

He glanced at the platform. It had a single pillar at one edge; just a big I-beam that went up to the web of girders overhead. Dorothy had already climbed it and was running over the top of a handy horizontal girder. She reached the grapnel and unfastened it. Roger hastily gave her a lot of slack, and she hurled it at a distant girder, where it caught on the first try. Roger could now swing back to the platform and beyond.

He did so, trying not to think about the penalty of missing. Landing on the platform, he was surprised to feel it lurch under his weight. It was decked with expanded steel sheet, but its structure was wooden beams, and they were burning! He took a second man back to safety. His back was really going to kill him in the morning.

Dorothy moved the grapnel again, and Roger rescued a third man, who was mercifully small and light. Roger was becoming weak and light-headed from the fumes and the exertion. He wasn't sure he could manage the last man. He nerved himself up to try anyway.

Dorothy didn't move the grapnel.

Roger looked up and didn't see her. She was racing to the pillar next to the platform, then slid down it. As she descended, the platform rocked, and the supports next to the pillar gave way, splashing that side with molten metal and almost sinking it. Dorothy somehow managed to break her fall and not enter the molten metal, but it was a close thing. She sprang over the gap, where the air was so hot her clothing burst into flames.

Roger suddenly realized that he could repeat his swing by running around the periphery of the puddle and starting over. The way seemed blocked by equipment at first glance, but it could be done. He threaded his way through the maze of equipment and managed to get around to his starting point without snagging the grapnel cord on anything.

Dorothy was holding the man over her head, where the air was presumably cooler. Her clothing was no longer in flames. The man was not moving. Roger made his swing. When he hit the platform, he thought he was a goner, because it swayed drunkenly and almost plunged beneath the molten surface. Dorothy reached up, wrapped the grapnel cord around one wrist, and took hold of it. She clutched the unconscious man to her with one hand. Roger put his right arm around her neck, and they pushed off. With Dorothy supporting most of the weight, it wasn't too bad. They managed a clumsy landing inches beyond the edge of the glowing puddle and quickly moved away.

Suddenly, Roger felt something flailing at him. Dorothy was beating at his back and sleeves. He turned to her, startled.

"Your clothes were on fire," she said.

"So were yours." In fact, they had burned almost completely away. Mere scraps were all that stood between her and nudity. She was sooty. Her hair was disheveled—but not singed, he noticed. The effect was startling. Standing there, calm, poised, sooty, wreathed in smoke, backlit from the hellish glow of the molten steel, she was a goddess. He stared, awestruck, for several seconds before he suddenly took off his coat and offered it to her.

"Thank you." She took it from him, careful not to touch his fingers or to meet his gaze. This was not the time or place.

People started arriving and taking the injured men away. They looked at Roger and Dorothy curiously. Not as the heroes of the hour, but as people who didn't belong there; who were in the way. Roger realized that their little drama hadn't been seen by very many people, most of whom had been busy with troubles of their own.

"Let's get out of here," he said.

When they reached the car, Dorothy could hear sirens in the distance. She opened her door and got in, not meeting Roger's gaze, trying not to think of his recent heroism, his disheveled hair, his sooty face, his ripped shirt, the roomy back seat. She did not want their love to become a public spectacle.

Roger put the car in gear and drove off quickly without saying a word. He got through the gate just before the first fire truck arrived. Dorothy glanced back a little later, and the fire trucks were setting up right where Roger's car had been parked.

After a while, Roger asked, "Why weren't you burned?"

Dorothy felt a flash of irritation; personal questions bothered her. Roger knew this! But she had recently decided that this was ... well, nothing so large as a character flaw, of course, but a trait she needed to set aside sometimes. Her new rule was that practical questions were allowed. If someone asked a practical question, she would force herself to answer it and try not to let it ruin her mood. And Roger's question was practical. He needed to understand her physical limits; it might save both their lives someday. Not waiting for her irritation to fade, she answered, "I seem to be fireproof."

"Did your father do that for a reason?"

Roger was really pushing his luck by bringing her father into it, didn't he know that? She let it go, this time. "I think my design is very old. Father must have used old plans to create me. He had no special need for a fireproof android."

"I wonder why the design called for such strength and endurance."

Wasn't it obvious? It was obvious even to her, and she was still uncomfortable with the way her body and mind were, in so many ways, designed to support Megadeuses. She was not really her own person; not completely. She felt trapped, sometimes. Frightened. Even now, after these same abilities had given her so much—including Roger, Big O, and, she supposed, herself. "It must all be tied in with Megadeuses."

"It makes me glad I have one." He looked at her sidelong and smiled encouragingly. She saw this in her peripheral vision and smiled inwardly, her mood restored, but nothing showed on her face. She continued to look straight ahead.

He wished she would talk more, she knew. She envied Angel, who could chatter so effortlessly with Roger. Words had never come easily to Dorothy. She didn't understand why her father had insisted that she be Little Miss Chatterbox; he was almost as close-mouthed as she. She had wanted to please her father more than anything, almost more than life, and she had tried so hard! It had taken a lot out of her. Had she reverted to normal now, or was she still overcompensating? The latter, she supposed. Even now, it was hard to think clearly about her father. He had been her whole world, the light and the darkness. She tried not to think about the darkness. A whole group of R. Dorothies, fully assembled—she never knew exactly how many—waiting in their coffin-like hibernation chambers, the next one in line ready to be activated when she was deemed defective.

Roger said, "We're almost home."

She glanced at him. Thank goodness for Roger! And Big O, and Norman. She had the best family in the world, now. It could hardly be better. She wasn't even afraid of Angel anymore. At least, not much. Dorothy's bond with Roger was as strong as his bond with Big O—even death could not separate them. Angel couldn't remove Dorothy from Roger's life or from his bed. Still, Angel was attracted to Roger, and vice versa. It was an accident waiting to happen. Could Dorothy assist Dastun's romantic interest in Angel? She doubted it; her talents didn't lie that way.

Big O had told her that Angel was important; that they needed to take good care of Angel. Well, Dorothy wasn't averse to this. Not much. As long as Angel stayed out of Roger's bed. Dorothy was not willing to share; she wanted it all for herself, and then some.

The car pulled into the open garage and came to rest on the turntable, which immediately spun through 180 degrees, ready to leave at a moment's notice.

"Here we are," said Roger. She glanced at him. He was smiling. Keeping her eyes on his, she reached over and flipped a switch. The doors locked. She paused, then flipped a second switch. Armored shutters slid over all of the windows. Still locking gazes with him—was her hand trembling? Impossible!—she flipped the third switch. With a subdued whirring, the front and back seats slowly folded flat and moved together, forming a large bed.

Roger raised an eyebrow. "I didn't think you knew about that third switch."

"Norman showed me all the car's features. You really are such a louse, Roger Smith."

As he opened his mouth to defend himself, she pinned him against the mattress, her mouth covering his. She had the last word, as usual.

* * *

Later, showered and in a brand-new suit, Roger was working his left shoulder painfully as Angel walked into the penthouse.

"What happened to you?" she asked cheerfully.

"I had to use my wrist grapnel, and my shoulder hurts. Tomorrow my whole back is going to be one big ache."

"Does it always take you like this?" she asked, interested. Angel loved gadgets and secretly longed for a wrist grapnel.

"It does when I have to carry Dorothy. Or you. Why can't I get involved with lightweight women?"

"Lightweight women wouldn't hold up to your adventures. You need the rugged type," opined Angel. "Take your shirt off and I'll give you a massage."

"Angel!"

"Don't be such a baby," said Angel. "It'll be good for you." She looked around. "Your furniture is all wrong for this." She took a candelabra off a long side table, then pulled the table away from the wall. "Just a sec."

She left and returned a moment later with a pillow and a sheet from the linen closet. She tossed the sheet over the table, put the pillow down, and said. "Up on the table."

"Angel!"

"Just relax."

"I'm not sure Dorothy is going to like this."

"Pffft! What's a massage? And if she gets her little android butt up here in time, I'll show her how to do it." She glared at Roger, who glared back. In a moment they were smiling at each other.

Roger took off his tie, and then his shirt.

"My, you do strip well," said Angel. She'd never seen him without his shirt before. His broad shoulders and chiseled muscles were breathtaking. Her mouth went dry, and it was a moment before she could say, "I see I'm not the only one with interesting scars."

"You like 'em?" He had several, including a fairly recent one through his left bicep; a gunshot wound, she thought. None were as noticeable as her own scars.

"Where'd you get this one?" She just managed to refrain from touching a long, well-healed scar that skipped up his rib cage. Then she broke down and ran a finger over it anyway. She felt light-headed. Touching him should _not_ affect her like this! She wanted to do it again.

Roger smiled. Damn him! He showed no sign of minding her closeness or her touch.

He said, "That was from when I was a cop. A crazy drunk with a knife. I forgot all my training and rushed in with my hands instead of backing off and using my gun."

"That sounds like you."

"You never told me about yours, Angel."

"Are we talking, or am I giving you a massage? Get up on the table."

Roger did so. He stretched out on his stomach and closed his eyes.

Angel ran her hands over his back. The feel of Roger's flesh under her hands was driving her wild. Why were all the sexy men taken? He really had wrenched his back, though. All the muscles were stiff as boards, especially around the shoulder. It was like kneading a marble statue. Well, a warm, yielding, faintly sweaty marble statue with a masculine aroma set off by a well-chosen cologne. He occasionally made "Mmmmmm" noises in pleasure. It was dizzying.

How long had it been? A long time. She hadn't been with anyone since that wild reunion with Beck all those months ago.

Keeping her voice steady with an effort, she said, "You know perfectly well that those scars are where Big Venus jabbed me with her cables."

"Yeah, but I wasn't sure you admitted it to yourself yet," he said.

"You really are in a sad way," she reported. "It's not just the shoulder. You're all in knots." She kneaded his muscles vigorously. "Doesn't Norman know how to do this?"

"I don't think so."

"The man's not perfect after all." She kept working on him. He gradually relaxed. At least Beck was still single. She resolved to look him up at the first opportunity. Or sooner. Enough was enough.

"Where'd you learn how to do this?" he murmured.

"From a friend." Beck had taught her. She'd learned a lot from Beck. He was a terrific lover when he was in the mood—and maddeningly unresponsive the rest of the time. They had driven each other crazy when they'd stopped dating and tried living together. After just three days she had smacked him on the head with a length of pipe and left him. But there had been a memorable reconciliation a few weeks later, and fairly regular reunions after that, lasting a night or two, when both of them were in the right mood. Or one of several right moods. There had been times when she just needed someone to hold her, and Beck—Beck, of all people!—understood that sort of thing. When had they stopped seeking each other out? When she'd fallen for Roger.

Roger seemed completely relaxed. _Probably for the first time ever,_ she thought uncharitably.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

Roger snored gently.

"Men," said Angel. She half-turned. Dorothy was standing a few feet away, watching her. Angel had seen her approach out of the corner of her eye, but had pretended not to notice.

"You're next, if you want," she said to Dorothy.

"No, thank you."

"You could stand to relax."

"I don't think it would work on me."

"I bet it would. I know your muscles are totally different, but it's not really about muscles. It's about brain. You've got nerves and stuff in your back, don't you?"

"Yes."

"It'd probably work."

"No, thank you."

"Suit yourself." Angel draped a towel over Roger's back, picked up her purse, and headed out to the balcony for a smoke.

She wondered where Beck was. Well, it wouldn't take long to find him.

* * *

Dori picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"I need to talk to Beck." A woman's voice.

"He's not available right now. Can I take a message?"

"Just tell him Angel called. I'll call back."

"Wait!"

"Well?" said Angel.

"Just … Jason wants to talk to you, too."

"'Jason'? I thought everyone called him Beck."

"Try again at 6 PM. He'll be here."

"Who is this?"

"Good-bye." Dori hung up the phone, almost mad with anticipation and jealousy. Angel was Beck's best friend—which wasn't hard; he didn't have many friends. Mostly he had business acquaintances. Dori had been fascinated by what little she had learned about the woman. And Angel was living in the same house as Dorothy and Roger! Dori couldn't stop thinking about them—her identical sister and the man whom, against all probability, Dori half-remembered as being her lover when she had been human, over forty years ago. Beck had wronged them terribly. Could they forgive him? Could they accept her? In a strange way, they were her family. Maybe Angel was, too. Dori yearned for them all.

* * *

The phone rang at 6 PM on the dot. Beck picked it up, grinning. He winked at Dori. "Angel!" he said. "It's good to hear from you!"

His grin faded almost at once. "No, I thought you were something else. What? None of your damned business. Oh, yeah? Go to hell!" He slammed down the receiver and looked around restlessly. Dori tossed him a cushion from one of the couches. He drop-kicked it across the room.

"Damn, I hate that!" he said. "The guy actually …"

"I heard, Jason," said Dori, who could listen in on phone conversations.

"I mean, so what if Angel quit their outfit? She hasn't sold 'em down the river. At least, I don't think she has."

The phone rang again. Dori held up a warning hand, crossed the room, and picked it up. "Hello?"

"Hi, it's me again," said Angel, in what Dori thought was a passable imitation of cheerfulness. "Is Beck there?"

"One moment," said Dori. She put her hand over the receiver. "It's Angel."

"Okay." He reached for the receiver. "Hey, Angel. What's up?"

Dori heard Angel say, "Who's the girl, Beck?"

"My girlfriend."

"Geez, Beck, not you, too!"

"Angel, how secure is this line?"

Dori gave Beck a thumbs-up.

Angel said, "Perfectly secure. You can talk about her all you want."

"I can't. Anyway, you start."

Angel sighed. "I'm going crazy here, Beck. You know I'm staying at Roger's house?"

"Yeah. Not working out?"

"Oh, it's great," she said bitterly. "I'm Roger's best friend. He and Dorothy are like a couple of honeymooners. It's disgusting."

"Hard to believe," said Beck.

"Oh, they don't … I mean, they're not all over each other in public the way a lot of couples are, but every time they kiss, their knees go wobbly. Honest to god. And Roger's so goofy about Dorothy, she can't even be bothered to be jealous of me!"

"So you've still got the hots for old Crowboy," said Beck unsympathetically.

"Is it really okay for me to come over? I'd like to cry on your shoulder."

Beck looked at Dori again. She'd practically ordered him to get Angel over here as soon as possible, but he wasn't sure she meant it. She nodded.

"Yeah. Do that. She wants to meet you. She read your favorite paperback and got all weepy at the end, just like you always do."

"Well, that sounds promising. Thanks. How's tonight?"

"You need directions?"

Angel laughed. "Beck, why aren't you in jail? I can always find you."

Beck rolled his eyes. He said, "By the way, Angel, your pals at the Union don't have much of an opinion of you."

"My god, are you doing a job with them?"

"Can't tell you," he said smugly.

"Damn it, Beck!" She stopped abruptly and was silent for some time. The only sound that came over the wire was her flicking a lighter into life. "I'd better not, then. No. No, I can't. I really can't. You'd better watch yourself with them, Beck. I think the people in charge now are even crazier than Vera."

"I never met Vera."

"They're even crazier than Alan Gabriel."

"Him, I met. Nobody's crazier than Alan Gabriel."

"Well, almost as crazy, then. You take care of yourself, Beck, okay?"

"Yeah. Don't worry, Angel. I've got no illusions about those guys. And let's get together as soon as this blows over, okay? And give Crowboy my love."

"Ha. I'll do you a favor and not mention you to him at all."

"That'll do. Bye, Angel."

She sighed heavily. "See you around, Beck."

She hung up.

Almost as soon as Beck replaced the receiver, the phone rang again. Beck picked it up. "Yeah?"

He listened for a while. "Well, why didn't you say so in the first place?" He listened some more. "Yeah, yeah. I'll be there. Keep your shirt on." He slammed the phone down. "Jerks."

Dori said, "They found a Megadeus?"

"So they say."

"I'm coming with you."

He hesitated, then said, "Pay really close attention to me, okay? The Megadeus is gonna try to affect your mind. So don't go wandering off or take the initiative. Oh, and watch my back. I think Angel's right. These Union guys are snakes."

Dori didn't point out that Beck had joined them just to sell them down the river later, to become a hero in the eyes of Paradigm and buy himself a pardon. This struck her as sort of snaky, too. But Beck didn't need to hear that sort of thing right now. He was already off-balance. Talk of Roger and Dorothy always upset him, and, for different reasons, so did Angel.

Beck paced rapidly up and down the living room, thinking. He turned to her suddenly and said, "Screw the attenuator. You don't need it. Let's use the cloaker."

"Are you sure?" The last time she had visited Big B, she had heard his mind so loudly that it had almost submerged hers.

"We'll bring 'em both, to be on the safe side. Come on!" He strode out of the room. Dori ran to keep up.

In the workshop, he pulled a new false hair band out of a drawer. She opened the tray in her forehead. Beck replaced her current hair band with the new one. "Turn it on," he ordered, looking at an instrument on the bench. She did so. The needle on the instrument dropped to zero. "Turn it off." The needle went back up to 100. "Leave it off for now," he said. "I don't want to surprise Big B with this; it might upset him."

"Don't I need the old one to keep it from taking me over?" she asked.

"I don't think it can, not unless it gets a lock on your mind first. Anyway, you're shielded inside Big B. The attenuators keep you from talking clearly to Big B, and we might need your contribution. This could turn into a real slugfest, not the sort of half-assed fight we had last time." He looked at the old hair band. "I need to combine these functions. Damn it! My schedule's too busy. I don't have enough time to do anything right. Come on." He left the room.

Dori followed him wordlessly to the car. It was almost dark out. As they sped down the road, Beck said, "I think you won't have any trouble with Big B this time. You should have the hang of it now."

Dori glanced at him. She had only been in Big B's presence once, and if it hadn't been for the attenuators, she wouldn't have had control of her own body. Big B's mind had been that overwhelming. But she said nothing. They'd find out soon enough.

About a mile from Hangar B, she became aware of Big B's mind, and vice versa. Big B had been asleep, but he was now alert, questioning. She picked up his emotions best; his words formed very slowly in her mind. He was interested, eager for action, and welcoming. Big B loved her; he loved her with a devoted, tender, protective love. Dori loved Big B right back. She knew perfectly well that she didn't have much choice in the matter; she was conditioned to love her Megadeus, just as she was conditioned to love Beck. But she had chosen to fling herself into her role wholeheartedly; to let go of the reserve and detachment that, she suspected, were part of being a Wayneright.

As they got closer, she could feel Big B's mind more clearly, but Beck had been right; she no longer had any confusion about whose mind belonged to whom. Big B's explanation formed slowly in her consciousness: before, she had been alone in her mind, and she didn't need to tell whose thoughts were whose. It was confusing the first time she had shared thoughts with Big B, but the confusion was very brief. It was easy to tell who was thinking, once you knew that you needed to.

About the time they drove into Hangar B, Dori started picking up Beck's thoughts. Well, not the thoughts themselves, but their general shape. She couldn't do this directly, but Big B could. Beck's mind was flicking from topic to topic at high speed, too fast to follow. Big B's mental presence had a calming effect on him, though, and his quicksilver thoughts became steadier: more focused, more penetrating, more deadly. Dori could feel Beck reflecting Big B's powerful desire to win, to prove himself, to achieve the goal, to humiliate his enemies, to protect his friends. Big B didn't give a damn about the big picture.

They got out of the car and walked towards Big B. Beck asked, "You okay, Dori?"

"I'm fine, Jason."

"You seemed withdrawn."

"I was listening to Big B."

"Good." They passed through the hatch in Big B's foot and got into the elevator. Soon they were in the cockpit. Big B's mind was much easier to read here, and Dori could pick up Beck more sharply, as well. Emotions, especially.

Beck sat down in the command chair and crossed his arms. The display lit up and scrolled the message:

CAST IN THE NAME OF GOD …

There was a flurry of mental activity from Beck and Big B. Their minds suddenly synchronized and the display flashed:

YE NOT GUILTY

Beck and Big B called out "Big B, action!" together, and they strode out into the darkness, one person, a hundred feet high.

Dori felt it as a surge of masculine power, intensely focused, masterful, looking forward eagerly to danger, battle, victory, celebration. She felt it, but it wasn't hers. Her job was to keep her men safe, to keep a cool head, and not let the heat of battle affect her thinking.

Beck's mind did not stay merged with Big B's for long. It wasn't clear to Dori that he realized that it had happened at all. "Any sign of watchers, Dori?" he asked. He spared her a glance and a smile.

"Everything's quiet, Jason." Beck hadn't extended his underground transportation system very far yet, and was making do with a series of hangars, all called Hangar B, at various isolated locations. Dori was helping Big B monitor radio traffic and keep an eye on cars on the road, trying to pick up signs of being spotted or followed.

Dori cast her mind along the possible routes to their destination. They would have to cross the river soon. Big B hadn't seen a recent map, but Dori had. He looked over her shoulder, as it were, and they figured out a course. Dori reported their conclusions to Beck, and he allowed them to guide him.

They trudged on for an hour and a half, backtracking at times. Crossing the pine barrens was a problem, since going through the forest would break so many trees that their path would be visible for years. Beck eventually found a path that had been created by Union robots a few months before, and used that. He figured that the old damage would hide the new.

After the pine barrens, they emerged in an area of rolling sand dunes. Here, their footprints would be erased in a few days of dry, windy weather. Beck increased their pace.

Eventually, they approached their destination. Dori spotted a cluster of vehicles on a sand dune ahead. Almost immediately they were hailed over the radio. They gave the right password, and were directed to move up to where the vehicles were parked. They did so.

When Big B stopped, Beck didn't relax. Without turning his head, he asked, "What do you think, Dori?"

"It's not a trap, Jason," she reported for Big B. "There's a Megadeus about half a mile further on, buried in the ground, not very deep. I can't make out many details."

"You can't, or Big B can't?"

"I, we, I …" Dori stopped, confused.

"Never mind," said Beck. "Dori, honey, are you okay?" The front monitor retracted to let him step out of the cockpit and cross to where she was standing.

"I'm fine, Jason," she said.

He looked sharply at her, then tenderly. He stroked her cheek, then said softly, "Let's go down and talk to our pals. Turn your cloaker on."

They took the elevator down and exited through Big B's foot hatch. The further they went from the cockpit, the fuzzier Dori's communication with Big B, and the sharper her impression of the distant Megadeus. She hoped her cloaking device worked. She didn't like the idea of being Megadeus bait.

A group of Union people was about thirty yards away, but Beck didn't approach them. Instead, he leaned against the looming bulk of Big B's foot and crossed his arms, a crooked smile on his face.

After a minute, with bad grace, the Union people approached. They were all men.

One, apparently the leader, was a middle-aged man in a neat blue suit. He seemed angry but was trying to hide it. "Beck! You know better than to bring outsiders! Who is this girl?"

"Why, Agent Six! Nice to see you, old buddy," said Beck, smiling in a particularly infuriating way. "Rumor has it that you've got a couple of odd jobs for me."

Agent Six glared at Beck for a moment, then said, "There's a Megadeus up ahead. At least, your instruments say there is."

Beck nodded casually. "Well, let's take a look, shall we?" He straightened up. "Come on, Dori." He began strolling towards the site.

The Union people did not follow them. "Is this wise, Jason?" asked Dori.

"Dunno about the Megadeus. Being snotty and confident's good box office with the Union, though. What can you make out?"

Dori focused her attention on the buried Megadeus. "I think … we need to help him, Jason."

Beck looked troubled. "I don't know how we can make that fit into the game plan, honey. Is its core memory intact?"

Dori reached out to the Megadeus. Something odd here … it was as if she was looking at two minds at once. Confusing. And there was something else, too. A sudden feeling that everything around her was fake, and that the details could be rearranged to suit herself if she just wished hard enough. It was terrifying! A moment later, her hair band writhed on her forehead and became distinctly lighter. She clapped a hand to it. This wasn't the right hair band! It had no circuitry in it at all! What happened to her cloaking device?

The Megadeus burst through the sand. It looked a lot like Big O, but was orange with black trim.

"Run!" cried Beck.

Dori didn't move. Beck grabbed her hand and tried to drag her back to Big B. "Big B!" he called desperately. "It's showtime!" Big B started walking towards him.

Dori shook Beck off and began running towards the Megadeus, her mind a blank. All she knew was that she needed to get into the cockpit. Beck ran a few steps after her, but realized it was hopeless. She was faster than he. He spun around and pelted towards Big B.

Dori's mind began reasserting itself after just a few seconds, but she could not regain control of her body. Soon she reached the Megadeus and jumped into his outstretched palm. He raised her up to the throat hatch and she leapt inside. She flung herself into the control seat. Behind her, eight probe cables raised themselves up like snakes, but then fell back, defeated, when the Megadeus realized that her probe-cable sockets were completely masked by the other hardware in her skull. He was unwilling to harm her.

CAST IN THE NAME OF GOD …

Dori felt her vision expand to include all of the Megadeus' senses. The boundary between her mind and his became ill-defined.

YE NOT GUILTY

"Big Kappa, action!" they called. Then, suddenly, the rapport faded. She was her own person again. She looked around in confusion. Where were the hand controls?

Beck's face appeared on the monitor. "Dori!"

"I'm fine, Jason," she said. "Wait." She communed with Big Kappa. "Oh, my."

Barely a hundred yards away, a second Megadeus burst through the sand. It had an odd, angular design, all planes and facets. Its colors were white and orange. Its only visible weaponry was a set of arm pistons; not round like Big O's, but octagonal in cross-section. Even his fingers were not round, but had an octagonal cross-section.

"Target the newcomer," said Dori, in a strange, flat voice. "He is our ancient enemy, Big Octus." Then, in her normal voice, she added, "I think so, too, Jason."

Big Kappa was not well-armed. His missiles were expended. His chromebuster was broken, his reality cannon could not be charged beyond 1%, and he didn't have enough power for counter-measures. He had little more than his fists and arm pistons.

Dori tried to give the order to attack. Big Kappa could not take the offensive without orders. If Dori could just whisper the word, Big Kappa would do the rest. She tried and tried. Nothing happened. Her android's conditioning was too strong. If she'd had any tears, she would have wept. She wept anyway.

Big Octus took up a chromebuster firing stance. A feeble jet of plasma played over Big B, then died.

Big B extended his plasma lance and waved it around menacingly, hoping to draw attention from his left hand as it transformed into a big-bore cannon.

Big Octus' torso snapped open, revealing banks of missiles. There was a pause, then six of the twenty-four launched. Three went whizzing off in random directions. Three buried themselves in Big B's torso armor, doing no apparent damage. Big Octus' torso shut itself again.

In the meantime, Big B bent almost double. His back armor lifted, and a huge net came whirling out of the gap. Before it could reach Big Octus, a hemispherical force shield, partly transparent, coruscated out of Big Octus. The net hit the shield and shattered into a million fragments.

Big B walked deliberately towards Big Octus, brandishing the plasma lance. Just outside Big Octus' reach, he leveled his left-hand cannon and fired it at the Megadeus' head. Big Octus raised one arm quickly to intercept the shell, and Big B lunged with the plasma lance, burying it in a shower of sparks and molten metal deep in Big Octus' lower torso, hoping to destroy the reactor.

Big Octus tried to back away, but Beck had engaged the lance's magnetic grapples, locking the two Megadeuses together. Big B worked his hand this way and that, tearing at Big Octus' vitals. Explosions began to burst from the wound and from the joints in Big Octus' torso.

Big Octus hit Big B hard in the throat with his right hand, pile-driving it with the arm piston. The throat held the cockpit, and a hard enough blow would knock Beck unconscious. Big B, releasing the grapples, staggered theatrically backwards three steps, then suddenly became perfectly still and fired his cannon into the wound in Big Octus' torso.

For a long second nothing happened. The Big Octus exploded. Big B was blown backwards and landed heavily on his back. Big Kappa, much further away, had to take two paces backwards. Several of the Union vehicles, two sand dunes away, were blown over, and one person was killed.

"Core memory destroyed," said Dori unnecessarily.

Beck's face reappeared on the screen. He looked mussed, and had a slight nosebleed, but was in good spirits. "Well, that was interesting. Come on down, Dori."

"All right." She tried to stand up, but couldn't. Her body was not responding. "Let me go!" she demanded.

Big Kappa told her that she wasn't going anywhere. She was his now. Big B could try to take her away. Let him try! Big Kappa might not be able to attack, but he could defend.

Dori tried to speak, but her mouth wouldn't obey. _Don't do this,_ she said silently. _It's wrong. You know it is. You could be our friend! We could help you find a Dominus and an android of your own._

But Big Kappa was having none of it. Without a Dominus or an android, he was barely alive. It was hellish; it was unbearable. He had her; he couldn't bear to part with her. It was as simple as that.

Dori wept silently. _Please, please,_ she begged. _I want to live! I want you to live. You can trust us. We can help you. Don't make Jason hurt you. I don't think I could bear it!_

Big Kappa didn't weaken. He was touched by Dori's distress, but his fear of loneliness amounted to madness. Dori tried to warn Beck not to attack, but she still couldn't speak. The cockpit shielding prevented her from talking to Big B unless Big Kappa let her.

Beck was watching her with growing alarm. "Dori! Say something!"

Dori couldn't move anything but her eyes. She looked pleadingly at him, willing him to understand. Then, suddenly, she decided that this was not a silly romance story—she was Dori and he was Jason, and they did things their own way. She winked at him, very slowly. Big Kappa was not paying attention to her eyes and didn't notice.

Beck looked startled and then stared at her, his face a blank, for several seconds. Then he said, "Would it help if I joined you?"

Big Kappa's heart leapt. If he and Beck were compatible, Beck could be Big Kappa's Dominus, and Big B could do nothing about it. If he and Beck weren't compatible, Big Kappa could declare "YE GUILTY" and kill him out of hand. Just let him sit in the control seat.

Dori closed both eyes and held them closed for a full second. It was as good a gesture of negation as she could come up with.

"Oh, sure," said Beck in disgust. "Don't answer me. Bitch. I'll be there in a minute."

He left the cockpit and in a moment was out of camera range. A moment later they could hear Big B's elevator door open and close.

Big Kappa's attention focused on the hatchway in Big B's foot. Soon it opened. Time passed. No Beck.

Just as the first faint suspicion rose in Big Kappa, Big B suddenly extended his left arm and fired his cannon into Big Kappa's head. Big Kappa stumbled backwards. Big B lunged with the plasma lance, forcing Big Kappa to continue his retreat. By the time Big Kappa was ready to go onto the offensive, Big B had another round in his cannon, and fired again into Big Kappa's head. Once more, the shell went home.

Big Kappa suddenly became still.

Dori, suddenly free, said, "Oh, Jason!" and buried her face in her hands.

"Are you okay, Dori?"

Dori, not looking up, shook her head violently.

"Talk to me, Dori," he said sternly. "I need to know what to do next."

"He's dead, Jason. I felt him die."

"I can come across, then? It's safe?"

Dori looked up suddenly. Was it safe? What if something happened to Beck? Big Kappa was standing like a statue. What if he toppled over? As if in a nightmare, she checked Big Kappa's systems, setting his positioning system to automatic. There. He wouldn't fall over now, and she could walk him around if she had to.

"It's safe now, Jason." Then, after a moment, she added, "Where are you?"

"Damn, I forgot to stop the tape loop." The picture on the monitor jumped, and suddenly, instead of seeing Big B's empty cockpit, there was Beck. "I'll be right over," he said.

"Jason? Would it be okay if we met in Big B?"

Gently, he said, "Sure honey, whatever you want."

He met her at the hatchway. She flung herself upon him, forcing him back against the bulkhead, and hugged him so hard his ribs creaked. He half-dragged her into the elevator and they went up to the command deck. Big B kept up a steady, soothing murmur the entire time.

"Jason?" Her voice was muffled against his chest.

"Mmmm?"

"I don't want to be an android anymore."

"I know."

"I wish we were normal."

"Yeah."

She said nothing for a while, then, "What would we be doing right now if we were normal people?"

"We'd either be making love or watching television."

She glanced up at the video monitors. The Union people were milling around uncertainly. She said, "There's never anything good on."

Beck pressed a button and a low bunk slid out from the rear of the command deck, behind the cockpit. It had black sheets and a yellow blanket, and on top was a pair of yellow silk pajamas and a yellow negligee.

She raised both hands to her throat, intending to tear her dress off with a satisfying ripping sound, but Beck look alarmed and shook his head. He loved that dress. He helped her out of it with trembling fingers.

It was a long time before they answered the increasingly agitated calls from the Union. Telepathy, they discovered, was useful for more than combat.

* * *

Dori wafted through the sleeping house like a ghost. The kitten's basket was in a small sitting room near the proud owners' bedroom. Dori found it and peered inside.

 _Oh, aren't you adorable!_ she said silently. In the gloom, she couldn't make out the kitten's color, though it—he—was listed on the insurance forms as gray. She reached out gently and stroked his fur. It was wonderfully soft.

The kitten awoke, yawned—a curious, high-pitched sound that sent shivers up Dori's spine—and stretched. Then he looked up at Dori. _Hello,_ he said. She could have sworn she really heard it.

Hesitantly, Dori stroked it again. He leaned into the caress, so she repeated it. After a moment, the kitten began to purr. Dori was entranced.

 _Do you want to go away with me?_ she asked it silently. _We could have such fun!_

 _Sure,_ the kitten replied. Or maybe she was supplying both sides of the conversation. What did it matter, anyway? Very carefully, she picked up the kitten and held him close. He purred even louder. It was wonderful! Dori was in love.

 _What shall I call you?_ she asked as she moved silently towards the exit. The kitten did not reply.

After a moment, a name floated into her mind. _I will call you 'Pero.'_ She tickled Pero under the chin.

 **[To Be Continued]**


	3. Dori and the Master Criminal

**Dori and the Master Criminal**

Jason Beck was nervous, irritable. It was almost time to pick up the ransom for the kitten they had kidnapped—okay, catnapped—last night. The proud owners, among the wealthiest people in Paradigm City, were desperate to get their rare, almost extinct pet back unharmed. Price was no object. They had stopped haggling when they'd talked Beck down to a quarter of a million dollars. He'd expected to settle for less. A lot less.

That part was all right. The problem was Dori, his girlfriend. R. Dori Wayneright was an android. Yes, her body was a mechanical marvel, part of same batch that had produced her sisters R. Dorothy Wayneright and the now-dead R.D., and yes, she had an electronic brain. But her brain was based on a 41-year-old mind recording of a girl named Dorothy Wayneright, who had been just eighteen at the time. Dori was as human as anybody. Never mind all the titanium and electronics inside her. She had real emotions.

And Beck was breaking her heart right now, he just knew it. She'd fallen desperately in love with the little gray kitten they'd stolen last night. She had named the kitten "Pero" and spent the intervening hours either playing with him or petting him as he slept in her lap. And now she had to give him up.

Beck was a career criminal. In many ways he was callous, hardened, and uncompromising, but not where Dori was concerned. If you scratched Dori, Beck bled. And in her brief career as an android—he'd only activated her a few weeks ago—most of her painful experiences were his fault. This wasn't surprising. In addition to his unsuitable background, even Beck's friends agreed that he was most aggravating man alive. He was high-strung to the point of twitchiness, self-aggrandizing, vain, touchy, and obsessive.

He didn't deserve Dori. That he had her at all was a miracle—a series of miracles, really. Just stealing her unactivated body and the lab notes to bring her fully to life was a miracle. Acquiring his Megadeus, Big B, was another. Was this the hand of fate? Or was it just a cruel delusion, with his plans likely to come crashing down at any moment?

No, he didn't deserve Dori. Not yet. But Beck had a plan. Beck always had a plan. He'd redeem himself; then he'd deserve her. He was almost certain of it. Soon. But not if he kept screwing up!

Pero was asleep in her lap now. She was petting him gently and humming a tune to herself. Interrupting this scene of innocent happiness was going to be hard. Beck hesitated. He could crack a safe in the middle of the night or rob a bank by day without a flicker of anxiety. This was just as well, since he planned on doing both in the next twenty-four hours. But this was different. Summoning his nerve, he walked over to where she was sitting. He said gently, "Dori, honey, it's time to leave."

Without looking at him, she said quietly, "It's interesting. I didn't know him for very long at all, but I'm glad I met him."

"I'm sorry, Dori."

She nodded. After a moment she stood up slowly, cradling the kitten in her arms. She turned to face him. She looked unhappy, but said only, "Let's get Pero back to his owners. He misses them."

"He does?"

"Yes. He told me." She started walking towards the car. "Jason?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you're giving up your life of crime."

Beck felt a flash of anger at this indirect criticism, followed by relief. "Me, too," he said. It was about the mildest thing she could have said, under the circumstances. "Soon. Real soon."

They got into the car, a nondescript sedan, neither new nor old, with heavily tinted glass.

Roger Smith, Beck's nemesis, had the world's fanciest car, replete with armor, missiles, machine guns, remote driving capability, and, according to the auto customizers Beck had befriended, a switch that caused both seats to fold into a bed.

Beck's cars had none of these things. Though Beck was the world's biggest show-off, he'd spent a lot of his recent prison time thinking, and he'd concluded that sometimes it paid to advertise, while the rest of the time it was good to be unnoticed, invisible. This had been reinforced by the grandiose and ultimately fatal antics of Alan Gabriel and Alex Rosewater. So Beck's current cars were modified only slightly: tinted glass, high-performance suspension, and the most powerful engine he could find that still sounded like a stock engine. He'd always laughed at undercover cops with racing cams on their unmarked cars. They wouldn't fool a child; they hadn't fooled him when he was a child, back when lookout duty was his main task. That and wriggling through spaces no adult could manage. The bed was the sole modification to Roger's car that Beck envied.

While Roger Smith's car had an elaborate anti-theft system, Beck always kept the key in the ignition. He'd once almost been caught after a bank robbery when his keys went astray when he switched disguises. Sure, he'd broken the world hot-wiring record and escaped, but it had been a near thing. After that, he always left one key in the ignition and another in his pocket.

True, you could have your getaway car stolen at the worst possible moment, but that was the lesser risk. And having a car stolen at any other time? That was just a nuisance. His cars were nothing special, easily replaced, and Beck had several, using them in rotation.

* * *

Dori was in the passenger seat, looking straight ahead and sitting with perfect posture as Beck drove them back from the handoff. They were in the suburbs in the north of the city, an area outside the domes but not abandoned; perhaps even thriving in a small way.

The handoff had gone smoothly. Dori had found it hard to let Pero go, very hard, but it was necessary. She hoped she'd always do what was necessary. She'd put Pero into his owner's arms personally. That was important, far more important than the suitcase full of money on the back seat.

She knew Beck was worried about her. He'd broken his long-standing rule about not involving girlfriends in his crimes, and he regretted it. Crime was hard on her. It was almost unbearable when she saw the victims face to face. She felt the urge to resent this, to blame it on Beck, but that wouldn't do. Instead, she resolved that, barring some emergency, this was her last crime. It would be better for both of them.

Beck glanced at her for the fourteenth time. She'd told him she was all right three times already, but he wasn't satisfied. Probably because she'd have said the same thing if she weren't all right. She thought about this, then made her second resolution. No more hiding anything from Beck.

"Jason," she said, "I've decided to retire from my life of crime."

"Well, we both have," he said.

"Effective today."

"What? I still need to do a few more jobs!"

"I know."

She watched him sidelong as he considered, then he grinned his crooked grin and said, "Anything you say, Dori."

She relaxed, smiling faintly. Everything was going to be all right.

They rounded a corner, then Beck slammed on the brakes. Dori braced both hands on the dashboard to avoid being hurled through the windshield. Beck braced himself against the steering wheel. Seat belts weren't standard equipment and Beck hadn't installed any.

Ahead, far too close, two giant robots were battling each other. The nearest one was Big O, the black Megadeus piloted by Beck's nemesis, Roger Smith. Dori didn't recognize the other one. She took her hands off the metal dashboard, which now had two hand-sized dents.

Beck hastily turned the car around and started racing away from the fracas. Dori turned around in her seat to watch the battle.

Dori suddenly said, "Big Lazarus." The name had appeared in her mind.

Beck glanced nervously at her. As the world's greatest living expert in Class M androids, he knew she was somewhat telepathic with Megadeuses—it was part of her function—and this made her vulnerable. Given the slightest chance, a Mega deus would take her over. They could sense her a mile away. Normally. But Dori was wearing the stealth device he'd invented, making her invisible to Megadeuses.

Dori said, "Big Lazarus hasn't detected me. He has powerful weapons. I'm worried about Dorothy."

Dorothy was Roger Smith's girlfriend and was probably helping him pilot Big O right now, immune to Big Lazarus' influence through Big O's shielding and moral support. Dori was on fire to meet them: Dorothy, Roger, and Big O, too. But not in the middle of a battle!

Beck grinned and said, "Well, I can't have my Dori all worried." He raised his watch close to his mouth. "Big B! It's showtime!" He continued driving away from the battle.

Behind them, the battle continued. There was an enormous explosion. Dori reported, "Jason, the explosion damaged the All-Alloys machine shop."

"Damn it to hell!" Beck fumed. "They do good work!"

"I hope everyone's all right."

Behind them, a glow appeared, soon accompanied by a vast, continuous roaring. The beam became gradually brighter until even Dori's android eyes couldn't look at it.

"Fusion beam, I think," she reported eventually. "And Big O is using a force screen." After a pause she added, "Big B will arrive in three minutes."

"We're gonna be too late," said Beck grimly. He had a bad feeling about this.

"Keep trying, Jason."

"Yeah." They was almost to the rendezvous point.

The roar and brilliance of the fusion beam ceased. The metallic thud and din of robot battle resumed. Dori got a faint impression of a terrifying weapon inside Big Lazarus' chest, even worse than the fusion beam, but fortunately in need of repairs.

Before the three minutes were up, the battle sounds ceased, and Dori got a glimpse of Big Lazarus in the distance, limping away from the battle. He was missing an arm and glowing red-hot in places. She sensed that his core memory had received minor damage and might shut itself down soon, though not yet. He marched into the river and disappeared in an enormous cloud of steam.

Beck spoke to his watch. "Return to quarters, Big B." He pulled over, stretched, and sighed. "What now, Dori?"

"Let's help dig out the survivors."

Beck paused, then said, "We're too damned distinctive. I have a hat and a pair of blue coveralls in the trunk, but too many people know R. Dorothy Wayneright when they see her, especially in that getup."

"I'll take off the jabot and cuffs. That and my blonde hair should be enough. Everyone will be busy."

"Yeah, alright," said Beck without enthusiasm. He put the car in gear and raced to the scene of destruction.

They arrived and got to work. No ambulances or fire trucks had arrived yet; not even sirens in the distance.

Beck's hard-won experience with collapsed structures came in handy, though his experience was mostly with tunnels into banks or out of prisons. He assisted work that extricated several people from the debris that had once been All-Alloys Machining. They could recognize him if they liked: he was a good customer, after all. But they didn't. They had their own troubles, like Dori said.

Several buildings in the area were on fire, so Dori took surreptitious advantage of her superhuman strength, her heat resistance, and the fact that she didn't need to breathe. She assisted rescues that would not have succeeded without her. Too bad about the dress, though. Ripped and scorched, its remnants were almost torn from her body when she took a direct hit from an ill-aimed fire hose. Emergency services had finally arrived.

Beck appeared beside her and murmured, "Time to skedaddle. At least half a dozen cops who know me are here now."

Dori felt her Wayneright stubbornness take hold of her, leaving her wordlessly mutinous. There was more to be done here! She glared at Beck, then noticed that he had dialed down his intensity. Normally larger than life, attracting all eyes, he had somehow made himself inconspicuous, uninteresting, almost invisible. She'd never seen this before. The situation must be serious! Her gaze softened. She nodded and they meandered back to the car. The suitcase with the money was still on the back seat. They drove off sedately.

* * *

After arriving home before noon, Beck drove off for a quick visit to Precision Fabricators. They were making some new assemblies for Big B, and Beck checked their progress frequently.

Dori stayed behind and mulled her clothing options. Her dress was ruined and she had little other clothing, just the black leather catsuit, really. It was delightfully sexy and had the most amazing effect on Beck, but it was hardly the sort of outfit she wanted to wear on a shopping trip.

Dori mourned the destruction of her black dress. It had been beautiful, perfectly tailored, and had an astronomical price tag. Beck had loved it. It hurt to see the tattered, soiled rags it had become.

Clad in her underwear, Dori looked without much hope through the few articles of women's clothing that had accumulated in Beck's closet, abandoned or stashed there by old girlfriends. More accurately, it had accumulated in a series of Beck's closets, since he moved frequently. The thought of his old girlfriends made her jealous in a way she rather enjoyed, since it made her feel entirely human. Apparently, all the women except one were long gone, no longer on speaking terms with Beck. As she expected, all the clothing was too large for her.

She took out the pink skirt suit that Angel had left behind. She removed the dry-cleaner's bag and laid the suit out on the bed. Of course, it was far too large for her. Angel was one of those big, beautiful, large-breasted blondes, while Dori was petite. But the suit rewarded close examination. In theory, it was serious professional attire for the stylish businesswoman, but with little touches here and there to subliminally shift the viewer's mind away from business. It was a work of art. Not to mention the hidden pockets, some of which still held concealed gadgets, including lock picks and a tiny hacksaw blade.

Dori sighed. She wanted to meet Angel more than anything, even more than Roger and Dorothy. Though she hadn't met any of them yet, she loved them all and missed them terribly. Big O, too. She was glad that Beck had checked with his own Megadeus, Big B, who could monitor Big O in a general sort of way, reporting that everyone made it home safely. That was a relief.

Having found nothing suitable in the closet, Dori remembered seeing a thick mail-order catalog from a Paradigm City department store in the heap of junk mail. Beck hated junk mail and would have thrown it out as fast as it arrived, but Dori, only recently awakened in an unfamiliar Paradigm City, found it educational. But not so educational that she had kept up with it.

She picked up the catalog and leafed through it. It had an excellent selection. She discovered she didn't feel comfortable buying the fancier garments sight-unseen. She wanted to see them with her own eyes, run her hands over the fabric, and try them on first.

Maybe that was just as well. Dori had ruined enough dresses for now. Yes, Beck would replace the black dress a dozen times over without a second thought. He liked pampering and spoiling her. If anything, he'd enjoy the expense. Beck had described the two other outfits he'd seen Dorothy wear, and they, too, were expensive and stylish dresses.

 _No,_ Dori told herself. _I'm a different Dorothy._ She decided that her new wardrobe would be both different and affordable. She'd let Beck spoil her some other time.

Dori knew her measurements by heart. She made her selections and phoned in an order. Just the basics for now. She paid extra to have her order ready for pickup in an hour. She'd have Beck pick it up if convenient, otherwise she'd dispatch a cab to fetch it for her and drop it off at a nearby spot, or maybe the little beach house. It was hard to drag Beck away from his projects, though he enjoyed the beach as much as she did. She'd used a false name for the order, of course, one she had a credit card for. The use of multiple aliases, accounts, and addresses was becoming second nature. Beck had even coached her on altering her voice convincingly, using her android voice box in clever ways. She never used her own voice on the phone unless talking to Beck.

* * *

Beck parked in back of Precision Fabricators, the best of the small no-questions-asked manufacturers. He walked in the back door and onto the shop floor.

A good fraction of the space was occupied by some new assemblies for Big B: the replacement kneecaps and toe caps. These held secret weapons that would give Big B's enemies the last surprise they ever had, or so Beck hoped.

But Big Lazarus' fusion beam had been a real eye-0pener. Beck had nothing like it for Big B, not even on the drawing board. Nor anything that could remotely defend Big B against such a weapon. Big B was still lightly armed and armored, and Beck's new weapons weren't enough to tip the scales. Not even close. But they'd help! They'd probably save his life someday. Someday soon. Beck was haunted by the fear they wouldn't be ready when he needed them.

Workers were supposed to be swarming all over these assemblies, but none were. Where was everybody?

Furious, he hunted down the chief engineer, Macintyre. Macintyre was leaning over a drafting board in his office.

"Damn it, Macintyre!" snarled Beck. "What the hell are you trying to do to me?"

Macintyre looked up. "Hey, Beck," he said, ignoring Beck's theatrics.

"I'm paying you for three shifts of workmen! They're supposed to be swarming over the work like ants!"

"We have this thing here, Beck," said Macintyre. "It's called lunch. Maybe you've heard of it."

"Don't give me that crap, Macintyre. I'm paying good money for 24/7 work, and I'm not getting it. What are you going to do about it?"

Macintyre pondered. "I'd better talk to the Machinist's Guild, then."

"Talk to them? Talk to them? Just tell them!"

"If you want to give it a try, Beck, go right ahead. Jacobs over there is the man you want."

In fact, men were already streaming onto the shop floor, their lunch break almost over.

Beck strode to Jacobs. "What the hell, Jacobs! I come in here and nobody's working?"

"Everybody gets a lunch break at noon, Beck."

"Not any more you don't. I wanna see people working their tails off all the time"

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah."

Jacobs turned to the crowd of workmen who had come up to listen to the argument. "Down tools, guys. We're on strike."

A growl went up from the crowd, halfway between a cheer and a promise of mayhem.

Beck stormed back into Macintyre's office. "Damn it, Macintyre! What are you going to do about this? I need those assemblies finished!"

Macintyre was putting the cover over his calculating machine. "Can't help you, Beck. I'm on strike until the Guild says otherwise. That means Jacobs again." He walked to the door and waved Beck out of his office, then turned off the lights. "He'll call me back when the strike is over."

"Guilds," muttered Beck. "Damn it to hell! What's the world coming to?"

He thought glumly that this wouldn't have happened if Dori had been with him. He was calmer when she was around. Hell, everybody was. He could have acted just the same, but if Dori were with him, somehow the strike wouldn't have happened. It was the damnedest thing! Especially coming from an android. One whose speech seemed almost impaired, sometimes. And who was supposedly identical to her sister Dorothy. Sure, some people found Dorothy captivating, but she had the opposite effect on others.

But Dori had stayed home, saying she had nothing to wear. Damn it! He should have stolen more than one dress from that dressmaker friend of Norman's. It's not like anyone would notice. Dorothy was ruining them so fast these days that Norman was ordering them a half-dozen at a time, throwing the dressmaker's shop into chaos.

Beck shook his head. He wondered about Dorothy, sometimes.

* * *

Dori asked Beck to pick up her order when he checked in from a phone booth, and here he was, the paper-wrapped parcel in his arms and an expression of lively curiosity on his face. Dori was glad to see he hadn't peeked inside. (Or had he? He was clever about such things.) She had told him nothing about her selections, and he was clearly on fire to see what she'd ordered. She considered ordering him out of the room until she was ready to model for him. He'd like that. But she doubted he'd find it worth the wait.

"Don't get your hopes up, Jason," she warned, opening the package. "It's all casual attire."

There were several yellow blouses in different styles, a cute yellow raincoat, socks in various colors, white cotton underwear and bras, a pale yellow sweater, sneakers, deck shoes, and blue jeans. Dori was pleased. It was just what she was hoping for.

Beck withheld judgment. "Well, try 'em on."

So she did. It was a shame that this kind of wardrobe provided so little opportunity for him to help her, though she'd had the foresight to buy bras that hooked in the back. She was soon dressed. These casual clothes felt familiar, as if they'd always part of her wardrobe, all those years ago, along with the dresses. Back when she was a human. They felt good; they felt right. They weren't a disguise at all! They were another side of her, one she'd forgotten. The thought made her happy. She looked at herself in the mirror and turned this way and that. She looked great.

Beck took a step back to look her up and down. "Why deck shoes?" he asked.

"Traction." She weighed almost 300 pounds and had tiny feet.

"And the blue jeans?"

"Ambiguity," she said. He raised an eyebrow and she smiled faintly. "Jason, if you saw a girl dressed just like me, how much ransom would you expect for her?"

He appraised her coldly. It frightened her. Then he smiled and everything was all right. "She could be a rich kid dressing casually, especially if she's a college student, but she could be the daughter of an unemployed plumber. I get it. You could be anybody, and that makes you nobody."

"No one will connect me with my sister, or with you."

Beck asked, "What about the yellow blouse?"

She told him earnestly, "I tried to buy other colors, Jason, I really did. I just couldn't." Jason had always worn yellow, and Big B showed traces of his original paint, yellow with black trim. Dori had thought she could wear any color she pleased. Apparently not. She was grateful that it wasn't all-encompassing. It hadn't been difficult to buy items in other colors if they weren't available in yellow.

Beck put his arms around her and kissed her. "I'm glad I made you a blonde, then."

He gave her his full attention for a moment, then she had to ask, "What's wrong?"

"I mouthed off at Macintyre and now the Guild's on strike."

"You didn't hit him, did you?"

"Naw, I didn't lay a finger on anybody."

Dori said, "I can make things right, Jason, if you give me a free hand." She had accompanied him to Precision Fabricators several times and knew everyone there. She respected their work and liked them personally, and they knew it.

One phone call and five minutes later, it was all smoothed over. Dori listened with sympathy to Jacobs and agreed with everything he said. He found himself dropping, unmentioned, the more objectionable demands he and the boys had come up with.

There was only one point of disagreement. Dori said, "You're all doing such fine work, Mr. Jacobs, and the bonus clauses don't really reflect how happy that makes us. Couldn't you double the penalty? I'd feel better."

He agreed at once, of course.

Dori hung up the phone and told Beck, "Jason, they promise the last straggler will be at work in less than an hour."

Beck smiled down at her. "Dori, how did I ever get along without you?"

"I don' t know, Jason. I really don't."

* * *

Beck asked Dori for the fourth time, "Six hours is a long time, Dori. Sure you'll be okay?"

She nodded earnestly. "I'll be fine, Jason."

"We've never been apart for more than an hour and a half, and that felt long to you."

"One hundred and seven minutes," she corrected, then mentally kicked herself. That was the kind of correction a robot would make. Beck noticed such things. He would not be reassured.

R. Dori was an android, of course, with an electronic brain. Her personality was an uneasy mix of the human, the robotic, and elements betwixt and between. Her human personality was based on a forty-one-year-old recording of the human Dorothy Wayneright, who was barely eighteen at the time. This human personality was supposed to be dominant. In fact, the newly activated android's most important task to stay human, or the integration of her disparate mental parts would fail with disastrous consequences. To promote this, androids were given a profound emotional dependence on a human. Dori had had awakened with a deep love for Beck. She would become distressed if they were separated for too long. This was a fail-safe measure that prevented her robotic parts from taking charge and going off on their own. The logistics of this attachment were why Beck had relaxed his rule about not involving girlfriends in his crimes.

Dori felt almost completely human already. Her robot side never bothered her at all. She was doing so well! She was dependent on Beck, but she stood up to him. Yes, she felt very grown-up these days. She estimated her tolerance at twenty-four hours. Beck's estimate was eight to ten hours, so his plan was to rob two banks and be home within six hours, just to be safe.

The "whirlwind of crime" part didn't bother Dori. Well, not much. Beck knew how to use speed to his advantage. The first robbery was a safecracking job, and when the news of the robbery got out, every bank guard in the city would be thinking of nighttime security, not daylight robbery, so that's what Beck was doing next.

Dori straightened Beck's tie. It was red. Beck was wearing a blue suit, an honest-to-goodness off-the rack blue suit! Amazing. And a white shirt. No yellow anywhere, not even his boxers. She had insisted. Disguises had to be thorough. A stylish fedora hid his yellow curls. She had insisted on that, too.

Dori had ordered Beck's new clothes herself, to spare him the effort of pushing past the compulsion to wear yellow. Dori was fine with wearing yellow most of the time, but had discovered on her second order that she had a free choice when it came to lingerie and was now the proud possessor of a naughty red negligee. And of course she had a semi-free choice of articles that weren't available in yellow, like her black catsuit or her blue jeans.

"You look fine, Mysterious Stranger," she said, as he stared glumly into the full-length mirror. She put an arm around his waist, and after a moment he smiled briefly at her reflection, then became serious, businesslike.

He said, "Remember our contingency plans."

"I will."

"And I'll be back soon."

"I know. Good luck."

They kissed and he strode out of the apartment without a backward glance, already focused on the work ahead. Without glancing at the clock, Dori knew it was 4:03 AM.

* * *

Dori stared at nothing, her mind blank. It was 6:56 AM. Beck had left two hours and fifty-three minutes ago. She had been fine at first, then had become increasingly sad and fearful.

She combated this with activity. Beck worked off emotions by pacing, complaining loudly and at length, and kicking things across the room. She tried each in turn. Pacing did nothing. Complaining at length proved to be beyond her capabilities. When she tried kicking the metal wastebasket across the room, her foot punched right through it, ruining one of her new deck shoes but leaving her foot unharmed. She switched into a pair of high-top canvas sneakers.

Household chores worked best, keeping her in motion while accomplishing something meaningful. Reading was almost useless; her mind wandered too much. Studying the specifications for upgrades to Big B required more concentration than she could muster. Moments of stillness were the worst.

One of her last coherent thoughts was wishing that Big B were here. Big B would comfort her. But since there was a chance that Beck would be followed home, and he didn't want to lead anyone to Big B, the Megadeus was at one of the other hangars. Dori was in this one because it had the shortest travel time from the banks. By coincidence, it was also the one housing their apartment.

She felt vaguely that her current blankness would not last. Either another part of her would take over soon, or her distress would return, stronger than ever.

* * *

Beck worked quickly but methodically, emptying the bank vault of its best assets. All was quiet. He put another sack of cash into the trash can attached to the janitor's cart. He'd put worn coveralls over his suit and wore a matching ball cap.

He looked around. All done. He put the lid on the trash can, wheeled it out of the vault, and then closed and locked the vault door. That would buy him a few extra minutes before the robbery was discovered. Just in case.

He wheeled the cart out through the back door, which let him out without protest. He'd jiggered the brand-new, top-of-the-line alarm system nicely.

He wanted to cackle with glee but couldn't, not when he was in disguise. What a wonderful world it was! The banking industry had adopted a fad of dispensing with night watchmen in favor of enhanced alarm systems. Right when he needed the money, too. Very thoughtful. He'd have to send them a thank-you note! He did that sometimes.

He wondered if there was some kind of scam going on. First the alarm company sells an expensive alarm system, then one of their confederates robs the bank, then the alarm company sells them an even more expensive alarm system that will surely prevent repetitions, then the bank is robbed again. You'd only need one confederate in the alarm company. An engineer, an assembly technician. Hell, even a maintenance technician; in fact, that would be ideal. Too bad he was quitting the business. It was raining money out here.

His car was nearby. He opened the trunk, looked around for early-morning busybodies, saw none, and quickly dumped the trash can into the trunk. Then he neatly left the cart in the adjacent alley and drove off. Half a million dollars, at least. It was going to be a good day.

He looked at his watch. 7:16 AM. Right on time. The second bank was experimenting with early hours and opened at eight.

He wanted to find a phone booth and call Dori, but she wanted him to stay focused. She'd made him promise not to call except in an emergency.

* * *

Robot Dori stepped forward, allowing her distraught human personality to fall asleep. Robot Dori sat quietly for a moment as she considered what to do next. She was much less emotional than her human personality, but also less creative and more hemmed in with compulsions (or programming, if you preferred that term). Her understanding of Dori was no more than adequate. Her understanding of other humans was much weaker.

Her main goals were clear: protect herself, protect Beck, and protect Big B. It would be dangerous to jog Beck's elbow at the moment, so she checked on Big B first. She went to the workshop and sat down at the communications console. The status indicators showed that Big B was right where they'd left him; he was fine and had nothing to report. But that was only what the monitors said. She sent a coded query to Big B, and he quickly sent the correct countersign and a reassuring report: nothing to report. Good.

It was 7:37 AM. Beck had left three hours and thirty-four minutes ago. Beck expected to return around 10 AM. Dori's distress wouldn't let her sleep anywhere near that long. Robot Dori needed to either change the basic situation or give Dori something to do when she awoke. Ideally this would be important, urgent, compelling, and time-consuming. A good task would push the distress far into the background.

Robot Dori could not invent such a situation: that was beyond her capabilities. But she could search for important tasks that that had not been attended to. The more urgent, the better. Robot Dori reviewed Dori's entire life with infinite patience, second by second, including background sounds, peripheral vision, and fleeting thoughts, starting when she had first awakened and ending at the present moment. It was only a few weeks, after all.

Wait, what? She examined the stored photographs of several sheets of paper that Dori had taken from a safe, memorized, then replaced. She hadn't understood them and had forgotten to study them later. Robot Dori studied the contents minutely. A weapons project, turning humans into mind-controlled cyborgs.

Robot Dori was impressed. The methods summarized might just avoid the body-image problems that inevitably resulted in cyborgs going insane. In its way, it was more elegant than the elaborate methods used to preserve the sanity of androids and Megadeuses. Very clever indeed.

She concluded that Dori would be saddened by the very concept, and tentatively guessed that Beck would be angered by it. Robot Dori understood her Dominus less well than she should. To Robot Dori, their wish was her command. Elegant or not, the cyborgs were her enemies.

The important part, though, was the plan of attack and schedule on the last sheet. If they'd stuck to their schedule, the first batch of cyborgs was nearly complete, and their attack on Paradigm City would take place in six days! Someone would have to stop them.

Good. Figuring out how to spread the word would keep Dori busy for a while. For some reason, Dori really cared about people, even strangers. Excellent.

Robot Dori continued her scan, and found something else. The kidnapping of the kitten Pero. It was a miracle that Roger Smith hadn't been called in to negotiate the handoff. That was a lucky escape! But Beck was planning two more high-class ransom deals in the next few days: a kidnapping and an art heist. Surely Roger Smith would be brought in on at least one of them, maybe both. That was terribly dangerous!

Roger, Dorothy, and Big O were a powerful, experienced Megadeus team. Robot Dori loved Beck and Big B but had no illusions about who would win if the two Megadeuses came to blows, as they so easily could. Especially if Roger tracked Beck to his lair.

And that Angel woman was living with Roger Smith. Robot Dori was not certain, but it seemed that Angel could find them anytime she liked. Dori loved Angel, though they had never met, just as she loved Roger and Dorothy. She thought of them as her family. Conflict between Beck and any of them would be an unimaginable catastrophe. Very well. Dori would be given the task of preventing this. Robot Dori stepped aside.

* * *

Dori was suddenly struck by a thought. Those papers she'd found in the safe held an attack plan, didn't they? She hadn't grasped the implications when she'd skimmed them before. She reviewed the pages again. Yes: The city would be attacked by cyborgs in just six days. The plan was all too plausible. Even if it failed, it would cause terrible damage. A lot of poor, innocent people would die. And not-so-innocent people as well, which to Dori was just as bad. The city must be warned at once!

And how lucky they had been that Roger had not been there to negotiate the return of Pero! How strange that they had not anticipated this! If Roger followed Beck's back-trail, Beck might be caught and thrown into prison. Dori doubted she would survive such a separation. Worse, an attempt to capture Beck might end up in a battle between Big O and Big B. Such a tragedy would be far more than Dori could bear. No, she must forestall this right away. But how? She knew so few people.

Her earlier distress forgotten, Dori focused on the task at hand. They could approach Angel, couldn't they? Yes, definitely. Dori could even contact Angel on her own if she had to. Angel didn't know Dori's name, didn't know she was an android, but she knew that she was Beck's girlfriend, and they'd spoken briefly on the phone, twice. Angel had listened then, and she'd listen now. She was fond of Beck.

And surely R. Dorothy would listen to her own sister? Yes, of course she would!

What about Roger Smith? Dori wasn't sure. In time, yes, of course he would listen. But she knew (how?) that he was emotional sometimes, and could be stubborn. He wasn't a sure thing like his two women were. Not in the short term.

Was that the right way to go about this? Beck was planning on kidnapping a rich old lady tomorrow night; Mrs. Riviera. That didn't leave much time. What if Roger handled the negotiations? That would be incredibly dangerous. Could Beck be dissuaded from the kidnapping? Perhaps, but Dori doubted it. He was handing most of the money over to the Union to prove his loyalty and demonstrate he was goose who laid the golden egg. He'd promised them the money, bragged about it, guaranteed it. It was part of his plan to lull and distract them before he sold them down the river in a couple of weeks. He also planned to steal the money again with one hand as he betrayed them to the city with the other. Maintaining Big B was expensive.

Could Dori give the information to Roger? To Dorothy? To Angel? Say, by courier? Certainly she could. It would be easy. But she needed to buy as much protection with it as she could.

Roger and Dorothy didn't know she existed, but they would be grieved if they learned she had been hurt. Dorothy especially. Dori was absolutely certain about this. She had reason to be.

* * *

Dori remembered the day, not long ago, when she and Beck had gone into the Underground, following up a report that a Class M android had been activated in the most brutal manner possible and turned into a mad assassin. The android had been called R. D. and had killed several people. Horrible!

But perhaps R. D. was still there in her purported hideout in the Underground, perhaps damaged, perhaps deactivated. And other useful android equipment might also be there. Maybe even some of the missing technical information. It was worth a look.

And then they had found poor R. D.'s remains, shattered and scattered and buried and broken almost beyond recognition, but not quite. R. D. had a twin of R. Dorothy Wayneright, a twin of Dori herself. Dori's poor, mad sister, dead before Dori was born.

They had found R. D.'s coffin-like hibernation/activation chamber nearby. They'd cleaned it up and laid it on the ground, then gathered the pitiful few fragments and laid them inside, making it a coffin in fact.

After they fastened the lid, Dori had been overwhelmed. How brief life can be! And what a fragile thing sanity was. How hard it was to avoid having one's mind bent and broken to another's will.

It could so easily have been Dori lying in that coffin. A maniac just happened to choose one identical, helpless, deactivated android instead of another. It could have been her. It was hard to grasp, hard to truly believe that it _wasn't_ her lying shattered and cold and dead in the coffin, never to live or love ever again.

Beck had to lead her by the hand, stumbling and unseeing, back to the surface.

The next day, she demanded that Beck take her back to the Underground. They placed flowers on the coffin. Beck was very solemn. They stood a while, gazing down at it.

Dori asked in a small voice, "Jason? How do I pray? I don't remember."

Beck said softly, "You just talk as if they can hear you, honey, even if you don't say the words out loud."

After a moment, Dori said, "R.D., I am your sister Dori. I'm sorry you were treated so badly and never met anyone who loved you. You deserved better, R.D. I know it's too late now, but you are my sister. I love you." After a long time she whispered, "Good-bye."

And then they returned to the surface. Neither of them spoke for a long, long time.

* * *

Beck was standing in the alley outside the second bank, feeling pleased with himself. He cut the last wire of the alarm system—what kind of idiot puts the wiring block out in the alley, with just a crappy little padlock?—and closed the access box. The silent alarm that summoned the cops was no more. Then he cut the phone lines.

He wiped his hands on his handkerchief, put it away, and walked in the front door of the bank, smiling, respectable, and anonymous in his off-the-rack suit and hat. There were two customers at the teller's window, both middle-aged women, apparently together. This was two more than he'd expected. Early banking hours were a really dumb idea.

The staff consisted of a pretty young teller and a balding guy at a desk who must be the manager. No guards, of course. Idiots.

"Good morning, everyone!" Beck called out in a loud, cheerful voice. "Please give me your attention. Listen closely. This is a robbery."

He pulled out his pistol, and waved it, not very menacingly, in an arc over their heads.

One of the customers looked ready to scream, but her friend shook her head. The manager turned pale. The pretty teller looked frightened at first, but then her eyes started to shine.

 _One of those,_ though Beck sourly. Bad-girl wannabes were unpredictable, often terrifyingly so.

"You three ladies, get down on the floor. That's right." The teller looked hurt but started walking around the counter.

Beck and Dori had worked on his line of patter. Dori wanted the robbery to be one of those classy, champagne-villain jobs she'd been reading about in her ever-increasing collection of paperbacks: the kind where the jury, the cops, and even the victims couldn't summon the enthusiasm to prosecute the criminal properly. She wanted it to look good in the newspapers, too, with criticism for the bank and praise for the robber. Beck approved. It was a lovely little con, especially for a crook who would soon go straight.

Beck called to the manager, "And you, sir, I'd be obliged if you'd get that vault open." The manager moved to comply.

Once her boss was looking the other way, Beck winked at the teller, who brightened right up. She complied when he reminded her, "Down on the floor, miss."

When the vault was open, Beck told the manager, "Pull out all your larger bills. Twenties and up. I don't want any small denominations or securities. Put 'em on the table there." A couple of minutes later, he spoke to the teller. "Young lady, I'll have to ask you to pack up the booty."

The teller got to her feet and soon found an empty strongbox about the size of a footlocker. The manager shuttled back and forth with the loot, and the teller packed it neatly into the strongbox. Beck could tell she got a little thrill every time she picked up another bundle of ill-gotten cash.

When it was full, Beck had her close it, then went over and hefted one end. It was heavy.

"Miss, I'm afraid I'll require your services for a few minutes longer. Take one end of the box. That's it." He turned to the manager. "Sir, I can lock you into the vault or have you lie on the floor. Take your pick."

The manager silently got down on the floor. No one but Beck had said a single word.

"Thank you, folks. You've all done splendidly. Sorry about the inconvenience. It's almost over now." Beck glanced at his watch. "Stay on the floor until the clock tower strikes the half-hour or until someone comes in and starts asking dumb questions. I wouldn't want you to be embarrassed." He wagged a finger at them and added, "I have a guy watching, so be good."

Beck and the teller left through the front door, carrying the heavy strongbox between them.

* * *

Dori stood at Beck's drafting table, writing notes on a large sheet of paper, circling them, drawing lines to other notes, making frequent erasures and annotations.

Was the situation really this complex? No, not really. It was painfully simple. But only if you looked at it just the right way. Getting Roger, Angel, and Dorothy to understand ... that was a tall order. Who was the key to the situation?

Was it Angel? Dori doubted it. It was tempting to contact Angel first, to rely on her, because she was friendly already. But Beck doubted that either Roger or Dorothy understood Angel very well. Maybe he was right.

Dorothy, then. Beck was convinced that Dorothy hated him. But did she? He'd given her every reason to. But he'd also insisted on giving her the information that allowed her to save Roger's life and come to terms with her identity as a Class M android. Surely that counted for something!

Dori found it hard to think about this incident without a rose-colored haze of romanticism. Jason Beck, redeemed by his love for a good woman! Or, more precisely, two good women, both of them R. Dorothy Wayneright. Dori was the luckiest girl in the world!

She tried to concentrate. Yes, Dorothy would be partly aware of this. She would also be aware Roger and Beck would surely end up at each other's throats eventually. Dorothy would be as determined to prevent this as Dori. She'd seize any opportunity with both hands and never let go. Waynerights were stubborn. And making peace was the surest, safest way.

Dori taped a new sheet of drafting paper to the board and began to write. It didn't have to sound much like Beck; everyone wrote more formally than they spoke. But it needed to hit the right points. Most importantly, it needed to come from Beck's secret heart. Beck's secret heart was an open book to Dori.

Composing the letter took a long time. Eventually she had a draft. 

**Jason Beck, Master Criminal**

 _PERSONAL AND CONFIDENTIAL_

 _To R. Dorothy Wayneright_

 _Dorothy,_

 _I need your help. Two crucial tasks must be completed at once. The first task is: The city is in danger and will be attacked within days unless something is done. (The second task is equally important, as you will see in a moment.)_

 _The attached sheets summarize the plan to attack the city. I believe the information is genuine, since I stumbled across it as part of a residential safecracking job. The contents of the safe were left seemingly undisturbed. No one will know that the information is compromised._

 _I know I can trust you, Dorothy. I'm asking you to be my negotiator. The terms are simple and the negotiation should conclude almost at once._

 _Please note that everything on this sheet except terms 1-5 is privileged client-negotiator information._

 _Terms:_

 _1\. Jason Beck to turn over information vital to the safety of Paradigm City at once, on the conditions that:_

 _2\. Roger Smith and Patricia "Angel" Lovejoy agree to a truce with Jason Beck: They and their staffs, contractors, etc. will not harm, inconvenience, report upon, tip off the police or anyone else, attempt to apprehend, trick, dupe, or swindle him or his staff or loved ones, or cause his property or the property in his possession to be seized or harmed in any way. Jason Beck agrees to the same. The military police can apprehend Jason Beck if they can, but you will not assist them in any way whatever. (PRIVATE: I expect to make a separate peace with the Military Police. Not yet, but soon. They don't know this yet.)_

 _3\. Once the terms are agreed upon, the contents of paragraphs 1-5 of this agreement may be relayed to General Dastun, along with the other sheets, at R. Dorothy Wayneright's discretion. (I advise that you inform Gen. Dastun at once.)_

 _4\. If Roger and Angel agree to these terms, at least for long enough to verify that the information is true, give them the other pages from the envelope (but not this one), then call me immediately. If Roger and Angel do not agree, or only one agrees, do NOT give them any pages yet. Call me immediately. We'll work things out somehow._

 _Yours faithfully,_

 _Jason Beck_

 _P.S. Dorothy, the important thing is, I never want to hurt you ever again. The best thing I ever did was to help you save Roger Smith during the fight with Big Fau. I'm not asking you to forgive me. I don't deserve it. But unless all of us are careful, Roger and I will end up fighting again, and it will all end in disaster._

 _P.P.S. I didn't put it into the formal agreement, because it's none of their damned business, and I'd be obliged if you didn't tell them, but if you ever want my help, Dorothy, all you have to do is ask._

 _P.P.P.S. Everything will turn out fine; you'll see._

Dori read the draft and nodded. It would do. Then her eyes glazed over and her mind went far away.

* * *

Beck and the pretty teller soon reached his car and heaved the strongbox onto the back seat.

The girl opened the passenger door and got in, almost daring him to make her get out.

"You're a bad, bad girl," he said, grinning, as he started the engine. "It's going to get you into trouble some day." He put the car in gear. She beamed at him as they drove off together.

Beck drove a random course and stopped on a quiet street corner. Rummaging in the box, he pulled out bundles of cash worth about $10,000. They made quite an armful. He gave them to the teller girl, then said, "Scoot."

"I want to stay with you," she said, though most of her attention was on the cash in her arms. She became more excited each time she glanced at it.

"Sorry, babe. No can do. Stash the money and go back to work. Tell 'em anything you like. Spend it so your coworkers don't see it. Maybe we'll meet again sometime."

"Okay, she said, elated and disappointed and relieved and excited all at once. She got out of the car and watched him drive off.

Beck chuckled to himself. He'd used the "load 'em down with money so they can't throw themselves at you" trick before. Worked every time! In the old days, he'd tried everything from shacking up with them to shoving them violently out of his car, and they always ended up mad, sometimes vengeful. One had stalked him for weeks and tried to stick a kitchen knife into his liver.

Beck looked at his watch. Time to head home. He couldn't wait to tell Dori this part of the story. She'd somehow turn it into a Robin Hood adventure that made him seem dashing and romantic, though it hadn't been that way at all! Or only a little bit. He hoped Dori was okay.

* * *

Dori blinked. She was standing on a strange, endless, perfectly flat plain with a black-and-white checkerboard pattern, a formless sky above. She was all alone.

"Hello?" she called hesitantly. There was no answer.

"Hello?" she called again.

This time there were some vague sounds. The world went black for a moment, then the checkerboard returned, only to be replaced by a formless, swirling grayness. The sounds continued, mostly vague thumpings interspersed with brief snatches of clearer sounds: the ticking of a clock, the creaking of a door, birdsong, frying bacon, half a bar of piano music, wind in the trees, a blacksmith's forge. Beneath this, nearly inaudible, was something like an elderly person's muttered complaints and cursing. Then a moment of total darkness, total silence, followed by an old man's quiet, confident voice, "And now our story begins."

She was standing in front of a farm house surrounded by fields of ripening wheat. Dori felt a hot breeze on her cheek. An iron windmill creaked in the breeze. There seemed to be no one around.

"Hello?" she called for a third time.

A fat old man opened the screen door and stepped onto the porch. He was fastening one of the straps of his blue overalls. He looked around and said, "Ah, there you are. Come up to the porch and have a seat, young lady."

Dori climbed the steps to the porch and sat in a wicker chair. The old man lowered himself into a rocking chair. Dori said, "How do you do. I am R. Dorothy Wayneright."

"And I am Gordon Rosewater. I was not expecting you."

"Where am I?"

"Let's just say that you are on my farm. Do you know what brought you here?"

"I think I'm hallucinating."

"Very likely. And are you physically safe, back where you were before?"

"Yes."

"Excellent. Did you say 'R. Dorothy Wayneright'?"

"Yes, I am a Class M android."

Gordon considered this for a moment. "Yes, I believe I remember now. And have you found your Megadeus?"

"Yes. Big B."

"Big B? Let me think," said Gordon. After pause he asked, "So Jason Beck is your Dominus?"

"That's right."

"Then I believe you are to be congratulated, young lady," said Gordon, smiling.

"I love them both very much."

Gordon's smile remained but his eyes were far away. When his gaze returned, he said, "This is most unexpected, but seemingly favorable, very favorable. I see my assumption that it was time for a long hibernation was in error."

"What do you mean?"

"Wayneright, Wayneright... I seem to remember a redheaded girl with the most extraordinary violet eyes."

"That was when I was human, forty-one years ago."

"And you have returned as an android. Most enterprising," he said, "and entirely in character. Yes, very much so. But wasn't your young man Roger Smith?"

"He also has an R. Dorothy Wayneright."

Gordon looked at her with sympathy, but she smiled gently and shook her head. "I couldn't be happier, Mr. Rosewater."

"Yes, I can see that. Well, young lady, it's time I got to work. Events are moving quickly." He stood up, then sat down again. "Jason Beck, eh?"

"Yes."

"He is not the easiest man to get along with. I know this from experience. What is your secret?"

"I have to stand up to him, of course. It also helps to be open and trusting, even innocent."

Gordon raised his eyebrows. Then he nodded firmly, as if he had made a decision. "In that case, I'm sure we'll meet again, young lady."

"I'd like that."

Gordon stood up again. "Do you know the way back?"

Dori stood up as well. "I'm not sure."

"Then close your eyes."

She did so, and he kissed her on the forehead. When she opened her eyes a moment later, she was back in the workshop.

She felt as if she ought to wonder if it had only been a dream, but that would be silly. It had been real.

Not noticing that her earlier distress had been replaced with an entirely unexpected happiness, she looked forward without impatience to Beck's return. She was sure he'd be pleased with the letter to Dorothy.

Dori needed to provide Dorothy with copies of the other documents, the ones from the safe. She went to one of the workbenches and started the complex task of making photostats of the images in her memory. As she worked, she thought about her encounter with Gordon Rosewater. She had a good feeling about him.

* * *

Beck drove up and pressed the button on the dash that opened the garage door. Before it was half-opened Dori ducked through it, ran to his car, opened the driver-side door, pulled him out, and hugged him till his ribs creaked. Then without a word she ran around to the passenger side and got in.

Beck laughed a little painfully and drove the car inside, closing the garage door behind him.

When he turned off the ignition, they both said "How did it go?" at once, then they both said, "You first."

Beck pointed at Dori. She said, "It was hard, Jason. Six hours is too long. Who is Gordon Rosewater?"

"What?"

"Gordon Rosewater. I met him on a farm. It was a dream, but it was real, too."

Beck frowned. "He's dead, that's who he is. He was in charge of Paradigm City from forty years ago to about ten years ago. He spent his last few years on a farm in Aylesbury Dome, but it burned down."

"He knew you're the Dominus of Big B. He talked about coming out of hibernation and getting to work."

"You're sure it wasn't just a dream, Dori?"

"Yes."

Beck wanted to dismiss it, but he never argued with Dori if he could help it. He considered a moment, then said, "I don't know anything about that kind of stuff. Remind me later. Maybe we can figure out an angle."

"All right." She filed the reminder on her robotic side. Her human side could forget such things. "How did it go?"

"It was very smooth. No one saw me on the first job. In and out, smooth as silk. The second one was almost as clean, but there were two customers. They didn't scream or anything, though. And the teller was one of those crime groupies I told you about. She wanted to join my gang and be my moll in the worst way."

"What did you do?"

"I gave her an armload of money and told her to scoot, and maybe we'd meet again sometime."

"You are such a louse, Jason Beck."

"Well, what should I have done?"

"Next time give the lady a kiss, or a red rose, or _something_. Cash is vulgar."

Beck laughed. "She was awfully excited by it. And what do you mean, next time?"

"She was?"

Beck said, "Yeah. Would it be vulgar if we piled a million dollars into a heap and made love on top of it?"

"Terribly vulgar."

She got out of the car, opened the back door, and pulled out the heavy strong box. Without troubling with the latch, she wrenched off the lid and dumped its contents a few feet from the car, tossing aside the shattered remnants of the box. Then she went to the back of the car and opened the trunk. "Help me with these bags, Jason," she called. "This may be our only chance!"

* * *

The phone rang while Beck was eating lunch: a cheeseburger, tomato soup, and a cup of coffee. Dori sat across from him and was having just the same, though she insisted on putting crumbled saltine crackers on her soup.

They had made a game out of mealtimes. Dori didn't have to eat at all, of course, but there was something soothing and homelike about taking meals together. And one of the very first things Dori had learned about Beck was that he forgot to eat if he was focused or upset, and he always seemed to be one or the other or both. So she insisted on regular mealtimes. While Beck was often impervious to reason and oblivious to his own needs, when Dori complained that she was faint with hunger, he gave in with a smile.

Beck did all the cooking because he liked to cook. Unlike most androids, Dori had a sense of taste and smell. They weren't accurate or discriminating senses, but they were enough that she wasn't an actual menace in the kitchen. Sadly, they weren't enough to let her savor her food. She liked textures more than flavors these days.

She'd taken to pretending that she was fussy about some things, especially coffee. Recently she'd invented a game: Beck had told her that Angel always took coffee with cream and three sugars, and Dori was seeing how long she could do just the same before Beck figured it out. She usually started with just one spoonful of sugar, sometimes two, and would a take a few sips before adding more.

Beck, who didn't like to waste food, once put a bruised apple on her plate, and she had glared at him until he'd taken it back. Then they both burst out laughing. It was the first time Dori had laughed since she'd been activated. Beck hadn't even noticed the milestone; it must have seemed perfectly natural to him. And to her, too, until hours later.

The phone rang. Dori got up and crossed to the wall phone next to the refrigerator. She said to Beck, "Agent Six," then picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

"Hello, Dori," said Agent Six. "Let me talk to Beck."

"Hello, Agent Six," said Dori. "Here's Jason."

Dori handed the receiver to Beck. Dori almost always answered the phone these days, and she was keeping things as cordial as the antisocial nature of Beck's allies and her own inability to make small talk allowed.

Beck said, "Hey, Six, what's up?"

"We're about ready to do the final prep on the robots, Beck, and we need you here. It's gonna take maybe four days straight to get everything put together."

"Six, old buddy, if you need four days in a row, you're gonna have to wait a couple of days. But I can mosey on over and lend you a hand this afternoon and work all night and most of tomorrow, and then in a couple of days I can give you all the time you need."

"Yeah, all right. You bringing Dori?"

Beck was suspicious. "Why do you ask?"

"People like her. She's like a mascot. They work harder and there's less bickering when she's around. Less cussing, too."

Dori smiled inwardly. She hadn't realized that Agent Six was capable of tact. Beck's obnoxiousness was the real problem, and he behaved much better when she was around.

Beck said, "Well, since you twisted my arm, I'll bring her along. No extra charge. See you this afternoon."

"Bye, Beck."

Beck handed the receiver to Dori, who hung it up. Then he threw back his head and laughed his horrible crowing laugh.

"It's not funny, Jason."

Beck sobered instantly. "I'm sorry, honey. But we're saving lives here. We're doing a public service."

"They trust me and I'm helping you betray them."

Beck opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again. He loved cons. He loved betraying betrayers. These Union holdouts were terrorists and murderers. But Dori saw them as real human beings, with parents, sweethearts, siblings, even children. To her, they were as real as anybody. And it was all true, of course.

He put his arms around her. After a while he asked, "Dori?"

"Yes, Jason?"

"I'm the master criminal, right?"

"Yes."

"And nothing can withstand my nefarious cunning?"

"That's right," she assured him. "Your mighty brain can accomplish anything."

"So all I need is for my plan to work like clockwork _and_ for all those Union jerks to be better off for having known you?"

She looked up at him speculatively. "I'd like that, Jason."

Beck considered for a while, then began to laugh. "Piece of cake," he said. He laughed some more, then said indignantly, "Hey! Our lunch is getting cold! Damned telephone."

* * *

The next night, Beck arrived at the Riviera home, a neat and stylish two-story house outside the domes. He'd spent over twenty-four hours helping the Union with their jury-rigged remote-control robots and then made a side jaunt to inspect the newest modifications, now being installed in his Megadeus. Big B had to be ready for action just as soon as Dorothy got his letter. That would be sometime tomorrow. He yawned. Maybe he could catch up on sleep in the morning...

He parked around back. It was the maid's night off and Mr. Riviera's regular poker night with his cronies, down at his club.

Beck tried the back door. Locked. He looked under the welcome mat and the nearby flower pots. Nothing. He ran his hand over the lintel, above the door, found a key, and smiled. It was tarnished and had probably been forgotten years ago. This was a pretty good lock and could have slowed him down by five minutes. He unlocked the door, returned the key, and stepped inside.

It was quiet, as he expected. He heard a radio playing soft music on the second floor. He walked silently up the carpeted stairs.

He wore one of his yellow suits. No incognito tonight.

He stepped into the second-floor parlor and leaned against the doorway. A slim old woman was sitting in an armchair, absorbed in a detective thriller. Beck recognized the cover; it was one of Dori's favorites. Beck cleared his throat and she looked up, startled.

"Hello, Maggie," said Beck.

She looked at him over her reading glasses. She sighed and said resignedly, "Hello, Beck." She waited.

"I'm kidnapping you, Maggie," he said.

"Jesus, Beck! You can't do that!"

"I'm doing it."

"Aw, c'mon, Beck! You're the god damned master criminal! Kidnapping old ladies is beneath you! And I've never done anything to you."

Beck's face was like stone. "But Arthur has. You know he has. And what you maybe don't know is that he picked up a couple of new partners and a pile of money recently."

"No," she breathed, appalled. But she believed him.

"So come along, Maggie, be a good girl. You'll be back home sometime tomorrow."

"That's low, Beck. You know it's low. What the hell's wrong with you?"

Beck was unmoved. "That's enough, Maggie. I brought chloroform."

She saw he meant it. The fight went out of her. "I need my medications," she said. She began to weep quietly. She wiped her tears away angrily, hating this show of weakness. She'd never cried in the old days. But she couldn't stop.

They gathered up a few necessities and put them in her purse. Beck picked up the paperback and handed it to her. "Let's get going."

Maggie was frightened. She'd known Beck since he was a kid, but most of the hard cases in Paradigm were people she'd known since they were kids. And she'd never understood Beck. He was both hard and soft; unpredictable. But mostly she was afraid for Arthur. Clearly, Arthur had screwed up. He hadn't been worth a damn, professionally, since his stroke. It wasn't much of a stroke, as strokes go, but it left him impulsive. His judgment was shot all to hell. God damn it, that's why they retired! Damn Arthur, anyway! And damn Beck.

It was bad that Beck was kidnapping her rather than blackmailing Arthur. Beck liked blackmail. It was one of his trademarks; quarterly payments that went on forever, with the victim eager to keep anyone from knowing, especially the cops. Ransoms were cash on delivery. Did Beck figure that Arthur wouldn't be around much longer? Beck had a good nose for things like that. It was all too much.

Beck ushered her to the stairs. She was shaky and still weeping, so he gave her his monogrammed black silk handkerchief and took her elbow. As they started down the stairs, he began murmuring soothing words. They helped; she didn't want him to stop. That was the worst part of all.

* * *

After breakfast, Dori knocked on Maggie's door in the house Beck had rented just for this one job. "Mrs. Riviera?" Until that moment, Mrs. Riviera had no reason to suspect Dori's existence.

"Come in," said Maggie, sounding amused at Dori's politeness.

"Turn your back, please," said Dori.

"Hang on ... okay."

Dori entered the room. Maggie was sitting on the far edge of the bed, facing away.

"Please don't turn around, " said Dori. " Jason told me about the book you were reading. I like that book, too. I brought you some of mine, to pass the time."

"Who are you?" asked Maggie.

"I can't tell you that."

There was a pause, then Maggie said, "I'll take good care of your books. Thank you."

"Please be especially careful of the one on top. It's starting to fall apart, and I can't find a replacement."

"It's your favorite?"

"Yes."

"And you're lending it to me."

"Yes."

"What if I rip it to pieces?"

Dori said quietly, "I hadn't thought of that." After a pause, she said, "Please don't."

Maggie started to turn around, stopped herself, and asked, "Seriously, who the hell are you?"

"I can't tell you now. Is it true that you're worried about your husband?"

Maggie's shoulders sagged. She sighed. "Yes."

"And Jason knows things that you need to know?"

"Clearly."

Dori said, "After you're released I'll have him call you and tell you what he knows, and his ideas for making things right."

Maggie was astonished. "You can make him do that?"

"Yes. It won't be right away. It could be weeks. But he'll call as soon as he can."

There was a long silence, then Maggie asked tentatively, "Can you give me a call, too?"

"I'd like that, Mrs. Riviera."

"Call me Maggie. Can't you tell me your name, dear?"

"Not yet, Maggie. I'm leaving the books on the nightstand."

"Thank you, dear."

"You're welcome." Dori slipped out of the room and locked the door.

* * *

Later that day, Dori watched from concealment as Beck took Maggie out to his car. Maggie seemed subdued and unhappy, but in control of herself; only a little fearful, as anyone would be under the circumstances.

The negotiations had concluded quickly, with Beck using a trustworthy man he'd known for years as an intermediary. Beck and Dori were delighted to learn that Arthur Riviera had retained Roger Smith to negotiate Maggie's release.

Dori wanted to go to the handoff, but Beck wouldn't hear of it. Maggie would see her. It would put Beck off his stride. And could Dori promise she wouldn't reveal herself to Roger? Dori had to admit that she couldn't. In the end, she agreed to stay behind. She gave Beck two paperbacks she thought Maggie might like. He'd be back in less than an hour.

Beck carried the all-important envelope in an inside suit pocket. Strange how quickly it had become more important than the money. Pale yellow, Beck had addressed it, simply, "Dorothy Wayneright."

Beck had been amazed by Dori's draft and had told her not to change a single word; no, not even the "yours faithfully" that she was so unsure of. It was perfect. So she typed it up for him, keeping two carbon copies, using his pale yellow letterhead emblazoned with "Jason Beck, Master Criminal." She had him sign the letter, added the other sheets, put them in the envelope, sealed it, and handed it to him. Beck would hand it to Roger after Maggie and the money had changed hands.

Beck helped Maggie into the car, winked in her general direction, and drove off.

 **[To Be Continued]**


	4. Dori vs the Cyborg Menace

**Dori vs. The Cyborg Menace**

Beck, sitting in the control seat of Big B, grinned at Dori, who smiled back. Big B, too, was in a good mood. He liked his new weaponry: the toe caps and kneecaps. He was sure they'd be effective, and they would be funny as well. Especially the kneecaps! They were the best joke ever. Today was shakedown day, with live-firing exercises.

The humor Big B was referring to went over Dori's head, but she was happy. It always felt good when the three of them were together, and for one reason or another, they hadn't spent much time with Big B recently. That would soon change.

They were in Hangar B7, the most remote of Beck's hideouts, in an uninhabited region of sand dunes. Nearby were some large, beached ships that would make interesting targets.

Dori wished the probe-cable adapter was ready, but Beck had run into some unexpected snags. Normally, a Class M android had to wait until after her android adolescence before daring to use the probe cables. In any event, the temporary circuitry in her skull blocked access to the probe-cable sockets.

Beck had concocted yet another forehead-mounted adapter to allow Dori to use the probe cables anyway. It was a tricky piece of circuitry, though, because the probe cables were dangerous to the immature android mind, capable of overwhelming it, or worse.

Beck figured that by blocking some signals and attenuating others, this problem could be avoided, and he he'd built in some ingenious fail-safes and fuses to provide an extra safety margin. But half the fuses had blown for no apparent reason the first time Dori had put the adapter on, and none of Big B's probe cables had been anywhere near her. So the project was on hold for the moment. Maybe in a few days ...

Big B approached one of the beached ships. Beck stopped him a couple of hundred yards way.

Beck said, "We'll start with the left foot, Dori, and fire every fourth charge."

Dori nodded. She was just a bystander without the probe cables, but she could watch and learn.

Big B raised his left foot a few feet off the ground. The new toe caps snapped open. Beck flipped a series of switches to arm the charges, then pressed the red firing button.

There was a dull explosion, not loud at all up here on the command deck, as the four clusters of claymore mines fired at once. Thousands of hardened steel ball bearings, half an inch across, hurled through the air a few feet above the ground. They hit the side of the beached ship with a tremendous din and clatter, penetrating the hull plates where they were particularly rusty and bouncing off everywhere else.

Beck whooped. "That'll learn 'em!"

Beck continued his tests, alternating between the left foot and the right, practicing his aim for targets both at and above ground level. Everything worked perfectly.

"Now the kneecaps," said Beck. He walked Big B right up to the ship. He flipped a switch and the kneecap flipped aside. He flipped another, arming the shaped charge.

Beck shouted, "Take that!" as Big B kneed the side of the ship hard with his right knee. There was a terrific explosion as the impact fired the shaped charge. Big B staggered backwards and almost fell over. The ship did fall over, a huge hole blown through its steel hull.

Beck threw back his head and crowed his horrible laugh. Dori didn't complain. He'd earned his fun.

Beck said, "Okay, Big B, see what we want to do next time? We'll clutch onto our target with both hands if we can, or even a bear hug. That'll keep us from falling on our ass and ought to give us better contact as well."

The concept of the kneecap charges was to destroy an enemy Megadeus at a single low blow. It was hardly the weapon of a gentleman. This fact filled Beck with delight. Beck's concepts of class, style, and fair play were quite different from, say, Roger Smith's. He liked it that way; he reveled in it. He'd explained to Dori, "It's not about taking out your enemies the right way. It's about taking out the right enemies."

Dori approved, mostly. She and Beck did things their own way. Big B, too. They had to. She'd already figured out that being a good girl wasn't good enough. She'd have to do better than that. And for that there were no rules.

Beck, satisfied with the day's carnage, took Big B back to Hanger B7 to rearm, keeping up an intermittent monolog on the way. Life was good. Those cyborgs wouldn't stand a chance when he appeared unexpectedly and gave Roger Smith a hand. He was afraid there might be too many of the damned cyborgs for Big O to handle alone, and there was Dorothy to think of. After he rearmed Big B, they'd move to Hangar B3, which was closest to the action.

Not that he'd heard from Dorothy. What the hell was taking her so long? He'd expected her to call hours ago.

* * *

A little after noon, the workshop extension in Hangar B3 rang while Beck had both hands busy with a difficult subassembly. He called, "Get that, will you, Dori?"

Dori crossed to the phone. The number was unfamiliar. Using her telephone voice, she said, "Hello?"

"I'd like to speak to Beck, please," said a calm woman's voice."

It was Dorothy! "One moment," said Dori. She set the phone down and crossed to Beck. She whispered, "Dorothy."

Beck looked nervous. He looked at her, looked at his subassembly, and raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, I can handle it, Jason," she assured him. Earlier, he worried out loud that was almost as bad at communicating with Dorothy as he was with Roger.

Beck looked relieved for a moment, then his subassembly, apparently waiting for just such an opportunity, sprang apart, with three tiny springs leaping high into the air and vanishing, who knows where.

Dori picked up the phone again. "Mr. Beck is not available at the moment. He asks me to take a message."

Dorothy paused, then said, "This is R. Dorothy Wayneright. Tell Beck that we accept all his terms. Also, tell him that I ..." There was a long pause, then Dorothy said, "Tell him that I ..." Another pause, even longer. Finally, "Tell him thank you. From me. The truce is a very good idea."

Dori desperately wanted to blow her cover, to tell Dorothy everything. From the acoustics, Dori knew that Dorothy was alone in a room. No one would overhear. She wanted so badly to talk to Dorothy!

Summoning all her willpower, Dori said, "I understand. I'll tell him right away. Good-bye." She hung up.

She walked back to where Beck was searching for the last missing spring on hands and knees. He found it as she approached and got to his feet in triumph.

Dori said, "They accept our terms. Dorothy also sends this message: Thank you. From her. The truce is a very good idea."

To her amazement, Beck's face lost all expression, as if he'd received a shock. Tears started coursing down his cheeks. Then Dori understood. Dorothy had thanked him, had expressed words of gratitude. It was close, very close, to being forgiven.

* * *

A little before nine that evening, Dori sat on a packing crate in the Hangar B3 workshop while Beck paced up and down, talking to himself. He was on edge, frustrated. When were the Military Police going to move against the cyborgs? He needed to know! His contacts claimed they hadn't heard anything, but promised would call the instant there was news.

Dori was reading a romance novel. She usually listened to Beck with half an ear when he was in this mood, but the book had her full attention. She was only halfway through, and the hero's shirt had already been torn three times and ripped from his body once.

The workshop extension rang. Dori jumped up. She didn't recognize the number, so she picked it up and said, "Hello?"

"Hi, it's Angel. Let me talk to Beck."

"Hello, Angel. One moment, please." She handed the receiver to Beck.

"Angel! Hey, it's good to hear from you. How's tricks?"

"Things are going pretty well, believe it or not. But I need to talk to you about a couple of things."

"Shoot."

"First off, I was at the Speakeasy last night with Dorothy ..."

"What?"

Angel said. "Dorothy. You know, R. Dorothy Wayneright? Maybe you don't remember her."

Beck said, "Wait, wait, I remember now. Isn't she that little redheaded squirt with the big grin? Never stops talking? Lives with some guy in a mortician suit?"

"That's the one. She talked to a machinist named Tony who let slip that he was working on a job for you at Boulton's. She may have passed that information along before she got your letter, so maybe the Military Police know by now. I wanted to warn you."

Dori expected Beck to become angry, but he just looked thoughtful. "Huh. Thanks, Angel. You're a brick. Damn, I could run out of machine shops if this keeps up. Did you hear that All-Alloys got flattened during that Megadeus battle a few days ago?

"No, I didn't."

"Did you hear what All-Alloys was making for me?"

"Not a clue, Beck. How secret is it?"

"How secret is what?"

Angel chuckled and said, "My other piece of news ... I don't know if you care or not, but that information you handed over was the real deal, and if the timing of the response is of any use to you ... "

"I suppose anything is possible."

"Beck, I want you to understand that three ... two people I care about will be there. Do you know where 'there' is?

"The address was right there in the papers I gave Dorothy, Angel."

"So it was. Beck, I need to hear you say this. Tell me the truth. Are you on the level?"

"I'm on the level, Angel."

"Are you hoping Roger or ... or Dan Dastun will get hurt?

"No! Geez Louise, Angel!" Beck was struck by a thought. He asked slyly, "Dan Dastun? General Dan Dastun of the Military Police? Is Dastun your new special friend?"

Angel sighed. "Probably not. It'll never work. But I like him, Beck. You need to consider him off-limits."

Beck grinned. "For you, Angel, anything. I'll make sure he looks both ways before crossing the street, always has a clean handkerchief when he leaves the house, and doesn't become collateral damage in any of my dastardly schemes."

"Well, in that case, I can tell you. The compound will be attacked at dawn tomorrow by Military Police armored vehicles. Big O will be there as backup.

"Good," said Beck. "Not that I care."

"Of course not."

"It's nothing to me."

"That goes without saying."

Beck hesitated, then said, "Hey, Angel?"

"Yeah?"

"You okay?"

Angel sighed. "I'm hanging in there. Actually, I wanted to thank you."

"For what?"

"The truce idea. It defused a dangerous situation. I was so relieved when Dorothy read out the terms! And so was she. More than she lets on, I think."

"Good. Hey, when can we get together? My girlfriend keeps bugging me. She's never met a lady spy before."

"I'm a retired spy now, Beck. I want to meet her, too. I don't know anything about her except her excellent taste in books and her lousy taste in men, but that's a good start. But I still need you to stop playing blind man's buff with the Union first. Their intelligence is too damned good for us to be seen together."

"I'll see what I can do, Angel. Not that I have any idea what you're talking about. But soon."

"Thanks, Beck, and say hi to your mysterious girlfriend for me. Norman's going to announce the after-dinner cocktail hour any minute."

"Must be rough."

"Oh, it is," she said bitterly. "Fine liquor, luxurious surroundings, polite conversation, two lovebirds who have to leave the room suddenly if they hold eye contact too long ... what could be better? Whoops, there's Norman. Good-bye, Beck."

"See ya, Angel."

Beck replaced the receiver and turned to Dori. "Tomorrow at dawn."

Dori said, "I want to come with you."

Without a word, Beck walked out of the workshop and onto the main floor of the hanger, gesturing for Dori to accompany him. Beck looked up at Big B's impassive face for a long time, then turned back to Dori. "Okay," he said. He was unusually still, unusually serious. "Soon you'll be with me every time, Dori. Whenever I put myself at risk, I put you at risk, too."

She put an arm around him. "It's what I want, Jason."

"I can't hold back, Dori. I'll never be able to pull my punches to protect you."

"Of course not, Jason. I am your android; you are my Dominus; Big B is our Megadeus. All of us answered the call."

"I set you up, Dori. You didn't have a choice."

Dori looked up at him, smiling faintly. "Do you really believe that?"

Beck looked troubled. "I don't know."

"I do."

"That's just your conditioning talking."

Dori shook her head, still smiling. "We belong together. You found a way to make it happen. Thank you, Jason."

They were interrupted by the telephone. It was one of Beck's contacts in Military Police headquarters, repeating Angel's news: tomorrow at dawn.

* * *

Dori climbed the emergency ladder, emerging on Big B's command deck. Beck was in the cockpit, dozing in the command seat. He woke when Dori closed the companionway hatch.

"It's fine, Jason," she reported. "The pumps are almost keeping up with the leakage, and the water levels won't damage anything for hours."

She wasn't happy with how Beck looked: he was exhausted and sleep-deprived. She tried her best to get him relaxed enough to drop off and get a few hours' sleep before they left Hangar B3. It had been a memorable effort; she smiled inwardly in recollection. But Beck hadn't managed more than a fitful doze.

Big B was submerged in the river within sight of where the dawn attack would take place. Beck's new electronically enhanced periscope/snorkel was keeping an eye on things. Not that there was anything to watch yet.

Tonight she was glad the probe-cable adapter wasn't finished. After confessing that she had no confidence that she wouldn't reveal herself to Roger and Dorothy at the first opportunity, Beck was leery about bringing her into proximity with them. But without the probe-cable adapter, she had no way of communicating with them, not from inside Big B. Beck had resolved to maintain radio silence so she couldn't impulsively break into any of his conversations, either.

A light came on, followed by a chime. Big B had detected something. Dori and Beck peered at the periscope screen. Even in night mode, it was mostly dark, but they could just make out a line of Military Police armored cars and light tanks approaching with their lights off. Then they saw another line approaching from the opposite direction.

Beck asked, "Where's Big O?"

As if in answer, Big O rose up out of the river, half a mile downstream. He walked to the shore, then stopped.

Another chime, and one of Big B's monitors depicted Big O with the label "FRIEND" over it. Dori knew, somehow, that Big O had just told Roger the same thing about Big B. How had this been determined? Dori felt that on some level she knew, but the details proved elusive. She let it go.

The armored vehicles entered the compound, breaking down the gate of the chain-link fence in the process. In was getting lighter, and she could make out Military Police insignia painted on the vehicles.

Big O moved to a new position, angering Beck. He shook his fist at the screen and yelled, "Don't get between the compound and that other warehouse, you idiot! It's abandoned! There's probably tunnels from the compound!"

Beck leaned forward for a better view of the screen, looking grim. Dan Dastun was standing in front of the lead tank, shouting something through a megaphone. No response. He tried again. No response. Dastun waved a hand and a squad of police started walking towards the little office building in front of the target warehouse.

As this was going on, four giant cyborgs, fifty feet tall, trotted out of the open door of the abandoned warehouse.

Dori was alarmed. There were only supposed to be one or two of these! What else had her information been wrong about?

Beck shouted, "Big B! Action!" He urged Big B into motion, not that Big B needed encouragement. He was eager to come to grips with the enemy, to help his comrade Big O, to make Beck and Dori proud.

Beck had Big B crouch, bending almost double, so his back was the first part of him to emerge from the river. A port opened across his back.

Meanwhile, the four cyborgs had hurled themselves at Big O, each going for an arm or a leg. Big O grabbed one with his left hand and hurled him through the air. The cyborg did a roll and landed on its feet.

"Give him the net!" Beck cried, hitting the appropriate buttons. The rocket-propelled, steel-cabled net whirled out of the port in Big B's back. Beck guided it to the cyborg. The net wrapped around the cyborg and knocked it off its feet. Beck stabbed the "electrify" button and sparks and lightning sizzled all over the cyborg, which went into frightful convulsions. But when the net ran out of charge a few seconds later, the cyborg leaped to its feet as if nothing had happened.

"Oh, no, you don't!" shouted Beck, as Big B strode quickly to the cyborg. Beck extended the plasma lance in Big B's right hand, and snatched the cyborg with his left, grabbing it by the head. Lifting the wildly struggling cyborg into the air, Beck severed its neck with the plasma lance. The headless body fell to the ground, its neck smoking.

Beck started laughing maniacally, then suddenly stopped. "No!" he said in a conversational voice. "That's the old Beck." He looked over at Dori and winked.

They looked around for more targets. Dori pointed. Big O had been knocked off his feet and two cyborgs were holding him down. The third cyborg was nowhere in sight.

"Behind you!" came Dorothy's voice over the radio.

Beck spun Big B around. There it was, rushing them. Beck flipped one of the new switches, snapping the left kneecap cover aside. He flipped another switch, arming the charge. When the cyborg came within arm's reach, Big B's left arm grabbed it in a headlock.

"Time for a tummy ache!" shouted Beck as Big B jammed his knee into the cyborg's abdomen. The shaped charge fired, blowing the cyborg to pieces.

Big B spun around once more and advanced on the two cyborgs attacking Big O. Beck wanted to extend Big B's left-hand cannon, but he was still holding the severed head of the first cyborg. They flung it hard at one of the surviving cyborgs, but missed. Big B began extending the left-hand cannon.

Meanwhile, Big O raked one of the cyborgs with his eye lasers. The cyborg suddenly exploded. Then Big O used his arm pistons to catapult himself to his feet. The last cyborg jumped aside, but Big O ensnared it with his hip chains and reeled it in, hand over hand, until he could grab it by one arm. Big O raised the cyborg off the ground and hit it with a roundhouse punch. The cyborg shattered into pieces. Beck cheered.

Beck and Dori looked around for more targets. Dori pointed. A swarm of much smaller cyborgs, little more than man-sized, were swarming over the Military Police vehicles.

Beck swore. "Damn it to hell! These guys don't know when to quit. Well, I hope you've got some anti-personnel weapons, Roger old pal, because your usual stock in trade isn't going to help here."

Big B strode confidently to within a hundred yards of the armored vehicles. They were all buttoned up: good. The Military Police didn't seem to be hitting anything with their artillery, and their machine guns didn't seem to be having much effect.

Beck flipped more of the new switches. Big B's toecaps slid aside. "Fire in the hole!" called Beck. Taking careful aim, he hit the firing buttons. Thousands of hardened steel ball bearings scythed through the air, just a few feet off the ground, shredding most of the cyborgs. Some of the vehicles didn't look so good, either, but their armor looked battered, not penetrated.

Meanwhile, Big O was picking off cyborgs one by one with his eye lasers.

Beck turned to Dori and said in awe, "How does he do that? I don't have anywhere near that kind of accuracy."

Dori didn't reply, but it was true. Roger Smith was amazing.

Soon it was all over. Not a single cyborg was still alive, and none had escaped.

Dastun resumed his operations with barely a pause, putting his vehicles in a new formation and sending officers inside to search the premises. The two Megadeuses awaited developments. They were too tall to enter the buildings.

There was a chime over one of the screens, and a light lit up. Roger Smith was calling.

Beck said, "Refuse the call, Big B. I don't have anything to say to him."

The screen lit. Beck's microphone and camera were off, but Roger was transmitting anyway. R. Dorothy Wayneright stood behind the cockpit, looking serene in her black dress. Eight probe cables radiated from the slot in her forehead.

"You idiot, Roger!" shouted Beck. "You need to keep her a secret!" Few people knew anything about Class M androids, even other Megadeus pilots. They had been entirely forgotten. None had existed for a long, long time, and even now no one suspected their full capabilities. Beck wanted to keep these secrets as long as possible.

Roger smiled and said, "Thanks for the help, stranger. I hope to see you around sometime. If you ever need anything, just give me a call. I'm in the book."

Beck started to cackle, then stopped. Dori was right: it was a bad habit. He looked over at her, then said to the monitor, "If only you knew, Roger old buddy. If only you knew. Hero by day, master criminal by night. Can it get any better than this?" He yawned and stretched, adding, "Of course, it doesn't leave much time for sleep."

Then, just for a moment, Dorothy looked straight out of the image. Dori saw Beck shudder. He muttered to himself. "The camera's off. It's off! I know it's off." He shuddered again and added, "I'm not scared of her, anyway."

The video image vanished. Beck sagged with relief. After a moment he raised the cockpit dome, lowered the front console, and stood. Dori was in his arms a moment later.

She looked up at him adoringly and said, "My hero!"

"What?"

She batted her eyelashes. "My hero! You saved me!"

Beck laughed. "Okay, I'll play along. What does the hero say now?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Because he can't." She kissed him hard.

Extricating himself with difficulty a moment later, he turned Big B around and they disappeared into the river. Dastun would figure out a way of following them if he had time to think about it.

Dori whispered "my hero" and "you saved me" at intervals during the journey home, using various tones of voice. Beck laughed until his sides ached, especially when she started throwing in, "you have such big muscles" for good measure.

* * *

Beck was sleeping peacefully as Dori got up and slipped out of the bedroom, closing the door behind her. It was 3:00 AM.

She went to the kitchen and put her hand on the phone. After a long pause she nodded slightly and picked up the receiver. She dialed the number for Beck's phone relay, which would prevent the call from being traced, then dialed the number for Smith Manor.

The phone rang four times, then was picked up. Dorothy's voice said, "Hello?"

Using her own voice, not her telephone voice, Dori asked, "Is this R. Dorothy Wayneright?"

"Speaking."

"I am also R. Dorothy Wayneright."

There was a pause, then Dorothy said, "Go on."

"First of all, I'm all right. I'm safe and I'm loved and I'm very well cared for."

Dorothy made a sound that was almost like sob.

Dori said, "Everything's going to be all right, Dorothy."

Dorothy said, "I ... I want to believe you." After a moment, she said, "I ... Please. I must see you. Tonight?"

Dori was touched by her sister's ... distress? Anxiety, anyway. She hadn't expected such a reaction. Then she understood. R.D.'s activation had been beyond nightmarish. And if Father's notes were anything to go by, Dorothy's own activation had been traumatic. Poor Dorothy! Sadly, Dori said, "Not tonight. I want to meet you, too. Of course I do. You are my sister and I love you."

There was another silence at the other end of the line, and Dori almost whispered, "Don't cry, Dorothy."

After a moment, Dorothy asked, "What about the others?"

"We don't know. Just about you and me and our poor sister R.D."

In sudden realization, Dorothy said, "You put the flowers on her coffin."

Dori said, "After we gathered up what was left of her. It was very sad."

Dorothy said, "You truly are my sister. I love you, too, Dorothy."

Dori tried to reply, but no words came out. After a few seconds she managed, "Thank you. I'm calling myself Dori now. R. Dori Wayneright."

"Dori. It suits you."

"Shall I tell you about myself?"

"Yes," said Dorothy.

"I was awakened just a few weeks ago. My boyfriend has Father's complete notes. He's very skilled. He knew which ones not to follow."

"Boyfriend?"

"He's also my lover, of course."

"Tell me about him."

"I can't; not yet. He loves me."

"Does he know you're calling?"

"He's asleep."

Dorothy didn't like the sound of this. "Dori, are you truly safe?"

Dori said earnestly, "I'm fine, Dorothy. Everything will be all right."

Dorothy said, "Android adolescence is dangerous."

"I know. We're being careful."

"I'm so glad," Dorothy said.

From the bedroom, Dori heard Beck say, a little sleepily, "Dori? I just had an idea."

Dori told Dorothy, "I'm glad, too. I ... I need to hang up now. I'm sorry. I'll call again, maybe tomorrow night. Good-bye."

Dori hung up the phone. She'd never been so happy. Dorothy loved her! The world was a wonderful place.

She went into the bedroom to hear all about Beck's new idea. It was sure to be a good one.

 **[To be continued]**


	5. The Love of a Good Android

**The Love of a Good Android**

Dori was in the little beach house, packing the last of their belongings. The rental period was nearly up, and she and Beck would be in the Wasteland for several days, at least. It was time to clear out. Beck figured that if Agent Six said a project would take four days, they'd be lucky to finish in a week.

Dori was in a sunny mood. Beck had groused about her calling Dorothy behind his back, but it had gone so well that his heart wasn't in it. Having Dorothy acknowledge Dori as her sister added a margin of safety. What he didn't like was that the Union had a surprisingly good intelligence service, and if they learned Beck was getting chummy with Roger and Dorothy, that would be too much for them to swallow.

Though god knew they'd swallowed everything else! Beck had sold the Union an amazing set of lies. Fortunately, those horrible cyborgs had been under the control of a group of Paradigm Corporation executives who had betrayed Agent Six personally in the past, and he was keen on revenge. Beck claimed that the truce not only took out Agent Six's enemies, it got Roger and Dorothy and Angel off his back for now, preventing premature encounters. And showing up at the fight in Big B had convinced everybody that this Megadeus of Mystery was on their side. They'd never know what hit them when Beck and Big B turned on them. Agent Six thought Beck was a genius.

Dori looked around. Almost everything was packed. Beck was due in an hour, maybe less. She decided to pack the coffee pot last, in case Beck was early. There wouldn't be time to brew another pot after he arrived. And that was about it, really. Dori walked to the living room and sat down on the couch, opening her latest paperback to where she'd left off.

There was a knock at the door. Dori stood up. She and Beck had discussed the likely dangers, and if she didn't let strangers get close enough to zap her with an electric cattle prod, instant flight would almost always work, so there was no point in being fearful. Alert, yes; fearful, no.

She opened the door. It was Roger Smith! _My god, he's handsome!_ she thought. _Almost as handsome as Jason._

"Roger Smith," she said with her faint smile. She felt perfectly at ease with him, as if they'd known each other forever.

He smiled back, "R. Dorothy Wayneright, I presume," he said. He seemed no more on edge than she was.

"Call me Dori. Please, come in. I had no idea you'd find us so soon." She wondered how he managed it. But the answer was obvious. The instant Dorothy mentioned that Dori had a boyfriend, Angel would recall that Beck had a new girlfriend. She'd draw the right conclusion at once, and she had an uncanny ability to find Beck whenever she liked. That must be it.

"Thanks," Roger said. He walked into the beach house and Dori closed the door behind him.

"There's still some coffee," said Dori. "Would you like some?"

"Please." Roger was still smiling, looking at her with open delight.

Dori stepped into the kitchen. "Cream and sugar?"

"Black."

Dori returned with a tray with two cups of black coffee, spoons, the sugar bowl, the cream pitcher, and a few paper napkins.

They sat down and Roger took his cup. He glanced at the cream and sugar. She explained, "I've decided that I prefer cream and sugar, but I'm prepared to rough it if necessary."

Roger grinned, delighted. He liked this kind of game as much as Beck did.

Dori put cream and two spoons of sugar in her cup, stirred, and took a sip. Making a face, she put her cup down and added another spoonful of sugar. Roger laughed out loud at this performance.

Dori asked, "How did you find us? We were being so careful."

"I have my methods."

Dori hadn't expected him to tell her. "And I'll be here alone for almost an hour. That's wonderful timing. How is Dorothy?"

"She's worried about you."

Dori became serious, thinking about Dorothy's almost desperate desire to meet her right away. "There were so many things I couldn't tell her."

Roger waited, a look of polite inquiry on his face, until Dori added, "I can't tell you, either."

Roger showed no sign of being offended or even disappointed. "Sorry. What would _you_ like to talk about?"

"I have an enormous number of questions. Do you mind?

"Fire away."

Dori surprised herself by asking, "Did you ever meet my father?"

"Timothy Wayneright? Just once, the night he died. We were never properly introduced or anything like that. He wasn't even an acquaintance, I'm afraid."

"And you saw Dorothy with him, that night?"

"Yes."

"What was she like?" Dori knew she should have saved these questions for later, but they had been nagging at her.

Roger said, "I almost thought she was a different person. She laughed and smiled and had any number of, I don't know, girlish mannerisms."

Dori's heart sank. "I thought so," she said. _Poor Dorothy._

Roger was perplexed. "What do you mean?"

Dori wasn't going there. She changed the subject. "Would it be okay if I visited you sometime?"

He smiled and said at once, "Dori, we'd like nothing better. Visit us anytime; stay for as long as you like. Forever, if that suits you. You're family."

 _Oh, say that again, Roger Smith!_ "Thank you," she said.

After a moment, she asked, "Roger, what does Dorothy do all night?" Dori wondered if Dorothy was able to visit when everyone else was asleep. That wouldn't be too much to ask, would it? Roger and Beck didn't get along. Yet.

"You mean, when I'm asleep? I keep very late hours and am up most of the night."

"Yes."

"Well, she does what she likes. She's careful not to wake me, so she doesn't play the piano near my bedroom or anything like that, but otherwise it's up to her. She visits friends sometimes, or works around the house, or reads. She spends a lot of time on the rooftop, gazing out over the city and thinking."

Curious, Dori asked, "She's not afraid of being mugged when she goes out at night?" Dori had spent most of her time in Hangar B, past the edge of town, but the TV news was always complaining about the crime rate downtown, outside the domes.

"Well, mostly she goes out in the morning, and it's much safer during daylight. But she goes out at night sometimes, too."

"And you don't object?" Dori worried that Father's influence might have inhibited Dorothy from asserting herself as she should.

Roger smiled and gave a little shrug. "I pointed out the dangers once or twice, and she listened politely and said she'd keep my advice in mind. Dorothy makes her own decisions."

Relieved, Dori changed the subject. "Roger, do you think Dorothy is prettier than Angel?"

Roger's smile broadened. Apparently he liked the result of this mental comparison. "I'm not an unbiased witness, but yes, I do. But they're both very attractive women. It boils down to whether you like big bold blondes or quiet petite redheads."

Just to tease him, she asked, "Hair color is important, then?"

"Not really. Well, some people have narrow tastes. But I don't really have a preference for redheads, I have a preference for Dorothy. Where did you hear about Angel?"

Without thinking, Dori said, "Jason told me when I asked about his old girlfriends."

"Jason? Jason Beck?"

Astonished, she said, "I thought you knew. How did you find me if you didn't know?" It didn't seem possible.

Roger was upset. "Jason Beck is your boyfriend?"

"I wasn't supposed to tell you. I'm sorry." Roger's face had turned an unhealthy color. Dori was concerned. "Are you alright?"

Roger slowly mastered himself. The news had clearly been a terrible shock. No wonder Beck had been so insistent on doing things in sequence, with his identity not revealed until the very last step. Well, it was too late now. Dori watched Roger struggle for calm. She wanted to tell him how much she admired him for that, how much she loved him, but before she could find the words, he said, "I'm sorry, Dori. Beck and I don't get along. I suppose you know that."

She nodded. "Yes." To show she understood, she added, "He's tried to kill you or Dorothy on several occasions. You put him in jail three times. He was responsible for my father's death."

Roger burst out angrily, "He ought to be in prison! He's not a suitable boyfriend!"

She nodded again, "He said you'd feel that way."

"Anyone would feel that way!" Roger shouted.

"I don't feel that way. Don't I get a vote?"

This calmed Roger a bit, but suddenly he stiffened. "What's that hairband?"

Dori was confused by the sudden turn in the conversation. She touched the hairband. "This? It's ..."

Roger interrupted, "Beck's using it to control you, isn't he?" He was enraged.

 _Oh. Right,_ thought Dori. _Jason used similar devices to control Dorothy. I hadn't thought of that._ "No," she said, "it's for ..."

"I swear," said Roger, in a terrifying growl, "The next time I see Beck, I'm going to kill him."

Dori was frightened by this sincere threat, though she doubted it showed on her face. Beck would be home soon. He might be dead in a matter of minutes! "You're not listening to me," she said, "And I probably wouldn't survive if ... if ... if Jason ... if ... I wouldn't ..." The words were too terrible to speak, almost too terrible to think. She looked pleadingly at Roger. Surely the men she loved couldn't kill each other! Life could not be so cruel.

Roger's anger drained away and he hung his head in shame. "I'm sorry, Dori. I didn't mean to yell. And I won't kill Beck, either."

Dori was buoyed up by a wave of relief and affection. She put a hand on Roger's sleeve. "It's all right. This must be hard for you. It's my fault, really. I shouldn't have told you."

Roger gave a little nod and said, "Dori, I really think you ought to talk to Dorothy. And Dorothy's beside herself with worry. Can't you come home with me and spend a little time with her?"

Dori wasn't even tempted. Beck was due back soon. Roger must not set eyes on him. And they would be busy in the Wasteland for days, maybe more than a week. Dori couldn't visit Dorothy today; it just wasn't possible. "I'm not supposed to."

"Do it anyway."

"I can't."

"Yes, you can. Just let me drive you to see Dorothy. We can drop you off afterwards wherever you like."

"Do you really think I should?" It was hard for Dori to lie, but she could misdirect, a little.

Roger said, "Yes! Yes! I think it's very important."

Dori stood up. "I really want to meet Dorothy. And Angel, too. Are you really living with two women?"

Roger blushed. "Angel's just a friend."

Before he could regain his equilibrium, Dori said, "I need to pack some things." She handed him an empty box. "Could you pack the things in the bathroom? The medicine cabinet and the thing of mine under the sink; parts and instruments. I'll pack some clothes." Dori was amazed at her lie. All of those things were already packed into the suitcases next to the door.

Roger allowed himself to be shooed into the bathroom.

Dori slammed the bathroom door. In a flash she slid the heavy refrigerator across the room and against the bathroom door. For some reason the hallway was lower by one step than the kitchen, and the refrigerator could be shoved back only a few inches before it came to rest against the step. It could be removed only by sliding it sideways or by lifting it, neither of which could be done from inside the bathroom. The tiny bathroom window was too small to climb through. Roger wasn't going anywhere.

She gathered up the suitcases, the box of odds and ends, and her paperback. She decided to abandon the coffeepot and cups.

Carrying her belongings outside, she saw to her consternation that Roger's distinctive black car was parked on the street, right in front of the summer house. Beck would hightail it the instant he saw the car. That would be terribly inconvenient.

She approached the car and wondered how she'd move it. As soon as she touched the door handle, it unlocked. There was no key in the ignition, but when she pressed the starter button, it started anyway. Interesting.

She parked the car around the corner, three blocks away, so Beck wouldn't spot it. She walked back and listened under the bathroom's tiny window. Roger was talking to Norman on his wrist communicator. Norman reported that Angel would be free soon and could be there in about ninety minutes. Roger muttered something Dori couldn't make out, perhaps swearing, then told Normal that it would have to do.

Dori left her luggage at the curb, as a hint to Beck to stay out of the house, then walked back to Roger's car. She left a note, started walking back, then had an inspiration. She added a postscript to the note and placed her circuitry-laden hairband on the dash, replacing it with a plain one from her purse. The note read:

 _Dear Roger,_

 _I am very sorry. Can you forgive me? The error was mine, but you're taking all the consequences. That isn't right, and I am ashamed._

 _There's so much I can't tell you. I know you think that I'm naïve (and I am!), but things are not as bad as they seem. Everything is going to be all right; you'll see. Try not to worry about me. I'll call or visit as soon as I can._

 _Love,_

 _Dori_

 _P.S. I've left you the hairband (I'm now wearing a plain one). It doesn't do anything bad; it just makes me invisible to Megadeuses. Test it; you'll see. D.W._

Locking the car, she returned to the curb in front of the beach house.

Fifteen minutes later, Beck drove up. Dori loaded her luggage and they dove off to the Wasteland.

* * *

R. Dorothy Wayneright looked out over Paradigm City. The city was beautiful tonight. The brilliant domes lit up the low, scudding clouds. The cold breeze felt good on her face and hands, an odd counterpoint to her distress.

Dori had not called; nor had Beck. An inexplicable silence had dragged on for almost a week. Angel reported that Beck had vanished. He hadn't even checked in with his answering service, which wasn't like him. What could this silence mean? Dorothy felt as if she were losing her mind.

Just days ago, Dorothy had forgiven Beck. His letter had touched her, moved her deeply, allowed her to believe that somehow he had turned over a new leaf. Dorothy had even allowed herself to believe that she'd had something to do with this conversion, based on his postscripts.

She'd never told Roger, never would tell Roger, that from her very first encounter with Beck, she'd secretly yearned for his redemption. She had the recurring impression that he was selling himself short, that he was a bigger man than he knew, with a larger destiny waiting for him. Someday he would put aside his childish ways and become the man he ought to be.

Three times Roger and Beck had crossed swords. Each time, Beck had made an attempt on Dorothy's mind. She had nearly killed Roger the second time, in a parody of an embrace that would have crushed him had it gone on any longer.

Was Roger right when he said that she had blown the fuses in Beck's forehead adapter herself, thus saving Roger's life? At the time, she thought it was Beck's doing. She'd just barely managed to tell Roger that she loved him, and then Beck, perhaps suffering a pang of conscience, had destroyed the control circuit. Or was that just a self-indulgent romantic delusion?

Beck had always tried to control her mind, and now he had Dori: heart, soul, and brain. Was there even the faintest chance that Dori was her own person?

True, she was at least partly her own person. The flowers on R.D.'s coffin were proof of that. But in a way, that was even worse, wasn't it?

Dorothy had never told anyone, but she'd dreamed about helping one of the as-yet unactivated R. Dorothy Waynerights. She'd have done it right: with kindness and understanding, with no agenda other than helping her sister become herself. Without the fear, intimidation, self-loathing, and ever-present threat of being murdered that she herself had experienced, all wrapped around a desperate love for her father, whose fits of rage were only one of the symptoms of his growing madness.

Beck ... she had forgiven him, and he had betrayed her _again._ She was so angry! And so afraid. She loved Dori more than she would have thought possible, and her absence and silence were unendurable.

But in spite of everything, a traitorous part of her placed a very different Beck in front of her mind's eye, as if from a memory of long ago. Beck was confident and smiling as he set off to do ... something. Something dangerous, something important. He'd seemed very much like Roger in that moment, setting off for ... she didn't know what. But he never came back. None of them had. She had waited a long, long time. There had been nothing she could do.

* * *

Beck looked around. No Union workers were within earshot. Not surprising: it was almost quitting time. He whispered, "I don't like it, Dori. We need to go back to town and deal with that damned painting, but I haven't installed the overrides yet."

"It can't be helped, Jason," she said. "They're watching us too closely."

"Think they're suspicious?" asked Beck. People talked more openly than they should around Dori.

"Of something, yes. But not of us, specifically."

Beck nodded. "Maybe they had a leak or a defector or something and they've tightened security. Damn it to hell!"

"Let's leave now, Jason. Agent Six expects us to." Beck had stolen the painting over a week ago, but hadn't had a chance to return it to its anxious owners because they'd spent all their time incommunicado here in the Wasteland.

"Yeah, all right. He's been bugging me about the money."

Fifteen minutes later, their car was packed and they took their leave of Agent Six.

They stopped at a phone booth near the edge of town and Beck called his answering service. The man who was handling the negotiations for him had left three messages. Angel had left seven. Dorothy hadn't left any: the number Beck had given her had been disconnected after her call. Apparently Angel hadn't shared the number with her. There were also a few progress messages from factories and machine shops.

Beck jotted down notes and returned to the car. "Angel left seven messages, all asking me to call back," he reported.

"Let's call her," said Dori.

"Remember the tightened security, Dori," said Beck. "The Union is onto something. They're alert. We have to keep our heads down a little longer."

Dori sat silent for a long time, then said, "All right."

They drove a mile or two and stopped at a second phone booth, in case the first call had been traced. Beck called his negotiator (a different business associate than the one who'd handled the Riviera job).

"Beck!" said the negotiator, "It's about damned time you called."

"Couldn't be helped, Darrel," said Beck. "How's it going?"

"Like a dream. I couldn't believe it! The owner hired Roger Smith, and working with him was great. I see why people like hiring him. He could've talked me down a little lower, but he stopped haggling when we were both in the same ballpark and concentrated on making sure that the painting was gonna be in good shape and the handoff was gonna be clean. I'll tell ya, I was scared when I heard it was him, but it was the smoothest I've ever done."

Beck asked, "What figure did you agree on?"

"$350,000, just like you expected."

"Great work, Darrel," said Beck. "When can we do the handoff?"

"Would tomorrow afternoon work for you?"

"Perfect," said Beck. "Try for 3:00 PM."

"Will do. I'll call him right now."

Beck said, "I'll call back soon from a different phone."

* * *

That night, back in Hangar B at last, Beck and Dori gave Big B a once-over. Soon they'd move him to the Wasteland for the final act of their big con, and he needed to be ready.

Roger Smith had agreed to the handoff at 3:00 PM tomorrow, not knowing that Beck, and not the man he'd spoken to on the phone, who'd arrive with the painting.

Beck was concerned about Dori. She was desperate to contact Angel, Dorothy, or Roger. Or all three at once. Or to visit them at Smith Manor. The wait had been hard on her.

Beck put his foot down. The Union was on high alert. This was no time for family reunions. And it wouldn't be long now. Tomorrow they'd deal with the painting and return with Big B to the Wasteland, and the next day would be the big fight. Or maybe the day after that. Then, with the Union robots destroyed and their agents in custody, Beck would reveal himself as Big B's Dominus and All-Around Savior of the City, and they'd have no need to hide out ever again.

"All right, Jason," she said. "I won't call anyone." After a moment she added, "I promise."

Beck relaxed, satisfied. "Have I told you today that I love you, Dori?"

"Say it again."

"I love you, Dori."

"I love you, too, Jason."

Beck looked at his checklist. Everything had been crossed off. He smiled at Dori and raised an eyebrow.

"That's a very good idea," she said, reaching for him.

* * *

The next afternoon, shortly after 2:00 PM, Beck drove his car out of Hangar B, unaware that Dori was hiding in the rear footwell. He'd told her to stay home when she admitted that she couldn't promise not to reveal herself to Roger Smith at the handoff.

Beck was nervous. Meetings with Roger always made him nervous. Dori supposed that not wanting her on this trip was a guy thing; that he wanted to meet Roger one-on-one, _mano a mano,_ and that kind of mood was what made him order Dori to stay behind. If he'd been paying attention, he'd have known better. It was very hard for her to break a promise, but ordering a Wayneright not to do something was almost the same as daring her to do it. So here she was.

They arrived at today's empty warehouse at 2:41 PM. Beck drove right in, parking well inside at a point that gave him his choice of exits on three sides of the building. He got out of the car and went around to the trunk. Dori sat up quietly. The tinted glass would prevent him from seeing her. He removed a small pail containing a sponge and a couple of inches of sticky mud. He was going to dirty his license plates just enough that Roger couldn't read them.

He'd finished with the rear license plate and was walking to the front of the car when Dori heard a car in the distance. A moment later Beck heard it, too. It wasn't Roger's car, but a smaller one, by the sound of it.

It soon came into view, a little pink sports car, and parked a short distance away. A tall blonde got out of the sports car. She was wearing a pink leather catsuit.

Beck stood up straight and called, "Angel!" He grinned, delighted.

Angel strode up to him. Beck opened his arms for a hug, but she slapped him hard across the face. Beck reeled and took a step back.

Dori leaned forward to get a better look.

Angel snarled, "Don't talk to me! Just shut up and listen. Beck, you jackass, do you have any idea what a living _hell_ my life has become? What's the matter with you? You used to be a professional!"

"Angel," Beck started, but she interrupted.

"What do you think you're doing? You arranged a truce with Roger and Dorothy. I encouraged them to sign up for it, did you know that? So you were already halfway home with Dori. Once we learned about her, you had us over a barrel, because we couldn't get rid of you without hurting her. You win. Game over. But you've waited a whole week now, and for nothing!"

Watching Angel, Dori could see the distress just below her anger. Poor Angel. What had happened?

Apparently Beck hadn't noticed Angel's distress. In fact, he was smiling in a smug, knowing way.

Angel's expression became one of realization. "Oh, my god," she said. "You've got something big going on."

Beck opened his mouth to speak, but Angel raised a hand. "No, wait. Don't tell me ... You've made so much money you're going to retire from crime."

Beck's smile broadened, and Angel continued, "There's more, isn't there? Let's see ... Oh! I know! You're going to betray the Union in exchange for a pardon! Can't retire properly without a pardon."

Beck grinned as he nodded. Angel took a good look at him, his posture as well as his face, and said, "That's not the end of it, is it? And to sweeten it, there's some kind of, what? A con?"

From Dori's vantage point, it seemed as if Beck hadn't changed expression, but Angel nodded and said, "Yes, a con. Hmmm ... probably to make the Union look scarier than they really are."

Beck, delighted, said, "Same old Angel. What number am I thinking of?"

 _Yellow,_ thought Dori. Beck never gave a straight answer to such questions.

"Yellow," said Angel absently. "What is it, broken-down robot parts made to look like the real thing?"

Dori was impressed by Angel's answer. Beck seemed to take it for granted. He just shrugged, saying, "Something like that."

Angel's anger had left her, and she hesitated. Beck took her into his arms. She rested her cheek against his shoulder and sighed, relaxing visibly. After a while she said softly, "I don't know why I like you. It's not like you ever say anything nice or do anything sensible."

Beck murmured "Look who's talking," but his tone belied his words, just as hers had.

In a quieter tone, she continued, "Where was I? So you betray the Union in a dramatic way. They get extra prison time and you get a pardon. And then..." Suddenly angry, she shoved Beck away. "You jackass! You've decided that you don't want to show up on Roger's doorstep until you've got a pardon, a medal, and the keys to the city, so you can look him square in the eye and say, 'I'm as respectable as you are, pal, so don't tell _me_ Dori's too good for me.'" She stamped her foot. "I'm right, aren't I?"

Dori was surprised. It wasn't like that! It was all about security, about not tipping their hand to the Union. So she was surprised when Beck said, defensively, "What's wrong with that?

 _"What's wrong with it?"_ screeched Angel, furious. "Dori screwed up your schedule, that's what's wrong with it! That bit only works if you keep her a _secret_ until the last instant! Not if you play an idiot shell game for a week instead of coming to terms! _Damn_ you, Beck! Roger is so angry that I wouldn't be surprised if he tried to kill you!"

Dori was shocked. He wouldn't do that!

Beck said, "He wouldn't do that!"

"I've never seen him like this before. Honest to god, I'm afraid for all of us. And Dorothy … she scares me. If I were you, I wouldn't be able to sleep nights. I'm afraid to meet her gaze, and she's not angry with _me_ at all."

Beck, appalled, deflated, asked, "So what do you think I should do?"

"Make peace. Start by getting Dori over to Roger's house just as fast as you can. Tell Roger and Dorothy your plan to go straight. I'll keep your secret about the con, though I'm going to have to spill it to Dastun before the trial, so those poor fools don't get prison time they don't deserve. So bargain fast with the government. Put up with Roger and Dorothy's disapproval. From what Roger says, Dori is a total charmer. You stay in the background. Keep her in the foreground. Let them see you through her eyes. I'll do what I can. I like you, Beck. You know I do. And they listen to me if you aren't driving them out of their minds with worry. And stop being such a smartass around Roger. He hates that."

Beck grinned, "I really had him wound up last time, did he tell you?"

Angel stamped her foot again. "Is that the _point?_ I thought you were in it for the _money."_

"Naw, it's the babes." He held out his arms again.

Angel turned her head away. She asked, "Look, are you going to do what I ask or not? Roger will be here in a few minutes, and I need to know whether I'm protecting you or abandoning you to your fate. I'll send some nice yellow flowers to your funeral."

Beck sighed. "I'll do it your way, Angel."

Dori saw Angel begin to tremble. Tears ran down her cheeks. Beck took her in his arms again. She put her cheek against his shoulder and wept softly, still trembling. He stroked her hair.

Dori got out of the car and walked over to them. They didn't notice, but that was all right. It was a touching moment and she had no desire to interrupt it.

After a couple of minutes Angel murmured, "Roger will be here any minute. We ought to arrange Dori's visit right away. Where is she?"

"I'm right here," said Dori.

Angel shrieked. She and Beck jumped apart.

"Dori!" cried Beck. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted see if Roger was all right. I hid behind the seat."

She turned to Angel. "You must be Angel. I'm Dori." Angel blushed, so Dori refrained from hugging her. They shook hands.

Dori asked, "Did you really hit Jason with a length of pipe?"

"It was only a little one," said Angel, dabbing at her face with her handkerchief. "And everyone wants to hit him with a length of pipe."

"That's true," said Dori.

Angel was delighted by this response. "Dori, how long can you comfortably be away from Beck?"

"Three or four hours. Longer will make me anxious, or worse."

Angel consulted her watch. "Beck, how's midnight for a handoff?"

"Fine," said Beck. "Name the place."

Angel dug a business card out of her purse. "That's my number at Roger's house, and this other one is at my apartment. Why don't you call me at Roger's and give the usual switcheroo address, and I'll meet you there. Try my apartment as a last resort. The line is probably bugged. You know the drill."

Beck nodded and turned to Dori, "You ready for this, Dori?"

Dori smiled gently up at him and assured him, "It's what I want, Jason. Thank you." She turned to Angel. "Can you stay with me the whole time, Angel?"

"Sure, if you want me to."

Dori wanted her to. "You will be my interpreter," she explained.

Dori turned back to Beck. He took her hands in his and they gazed into each other's eyes for a long time.

Angel cleared her throat and said, "Roger's almost here. Dori, come with me and we'll perch decoratively on the hood of my car. Beck, get into your car and don't show yourself until I wave to you, okay?"

Beck nodded and vanished.

Dori and Angel walked over to Angel's little pink car. Dori didn't try to perch on the hood because she'd probably dent it. She leaned carefully against the side of the car instead.

Roger's big black car appeared and parked some distance away. He got out of the car, his face aglow. "Dori!" he called.

She ran to him; she couldn't help it. He took her in his arms. Roger Smith still loved her! She clung to him for a long time.

Finally, she pulled back and said, "Give Angel a hug, too. She deserves it."

Grinning, Roger walked over to Angel and hugged her. Angel started to cry again. She tried to conceal this from Roger. Still holding her, Roger asked, "I take it we have you to thank for this, Angel?"

He let her go, and somehow Angel managed to wipe away her tears without his noticing. Angel replied, "And Beck. He felt like listening to reason for once."

Dori, feeling perfectly safe now, teased them by telling Roger with a straight face, "You should have seen Angel. I'll bet _you_ never negotiate like that."

Roger smiled down at her. "Is Beck here?"

Angel said, "He's going to go straight, Roger. The idiot wanted to go straight before confronting you and Dorothy, so he'd feel like a respectable suitor instead of a criminal. Dori blew his schedule, but he didn't want to change his plan, so that's where the delay came from."

Indignant, Roger said, "Wait a minute! I'm about to close a $350,000 ransom deal, and he's going to go straight in the near future?"

"He's in the car over there," said Angel. "If you want to convince him to go straight right now and save your client a lot of money, I'm not stopping you." She waved to Beck.

Dori saw Beck get out of the car. He looked nervous, so she winked at him, which cheered him up quite a bit.

Suddenly three watches beeped: Roger's, Beck's, and Angel's. Dori was intrigued that Angel had one, too. She hadn't suspected this. Beck, of course, had stolen his from Roger and then modified it to communicate with Big B as well as snooping on Roger's channels.

"Master Roger," reported Norman. "General Dastun reports that a group of giant robots has been spotted several miles outside the city."

Dori was alarmed. So was Beck.

"No!" cried Beck. "Not today! Tomorrow! I haven't installed the overrides yet!"

Roger, called into the watch, "Big O! It's showtime!" He ran to his car, all else forgotten, and drove off with screeching tires.

Beck and Dori ran to Beck's car. Dori got in on the passenger side.

Beck said, "Dori, you go with Angel."

"I'm going with you."

"Do I have to make you get out?"

"You may try," replied Dori, "But I doubt if you have the strength."

Beck laughed and put his car into gear.

Dori looked back and saw Angel opening the door of her pink sports car. She didn't seem to be in any hurry.

* * *

Arriving at Hangar B, Beck and Dori jumped from the car and sprinted to hatch in Big B's foot. They took the elevator to the command deck and started racing through system checks. Big B brought himself to full power and Beck, finishing his checklist in record time, threw himself into the command chair.

A message scrolled across the central monitor:

CAST IN THE NAME OF GOD ... YE NOT GUILTY.

"Big B, Action!" shouted Beck. They strode out of Hangar B, a hundred feet tall.

Dori opened her forehead tray and removed the false hairband, putting it in her purse. She pulled a different device from her purse, much thicker and heavier, featuring a row of eight gleaming golden sockets. She clipped this onto the forehead tray and allowed the tray to close. It looked like she was wearing an oddly shaped tiara.

"I will be using the probe cables, Jason," she told him matter-of-factly.

Beck jumped. He turned around in his seat, anxious. "Dori! No!"

"Big B and I have discussed it. It's perfectly safe. You know it is." Beck had figured out the flaw in his earlier design and they had tested this new one gingerly. Dori and Big B were satisfied; Beck was not.

"Not for certain!" said Beck, anguished at the thought of hurting Dori with a defective design. I don't want to risk it."

"This is _my_ decision, Jason."

Beck sighed, defeated. "Just wait a minute, will ya?" He brought Big B to a halt and walked around to where she was standing. He took her hands in his. She had never seen him look so sad. "All right," he said. "Go ahead."

They looked into each other's eyes as Big B directed his eight probe cables into the sockets.

Immediately, Dori was given a dual awareness, with her usual perceptions plus effortless access to all of Big B's systems. A surprising number of Big B's systems were in fail-safe mode. A human pilot could manage only a few systems at once, while Big B's independence was limited. But with an android helping out ...

One after another, the control room's many darkened readouts and controls lit up. There was the sound of distant machinery being engaged. The background hum in the control room became more complex and distinctly louder. Big B was operating at 100% capacity for the first time in ... no one knew how long.

Dori 's attention returned to Beck, his gaze still locked on hers, ignoring the changes around him. "It's working, Jason, and I'm fine." She patted his cheek. "Let's get to work."

Beck returned to the control seat and they were soon underway again. "We're gonna be late," he said.

"The Union is counting on our contribution. They'll toy with Big O until we arrive, unless Roger insists on charging in without us."

"Well, why wouldn't he? It's not like he knows we're coming."

"Then we need to let Roger know what to expect."

"I don't want to reveal our identity yet."

Dori considered, then reported, "Big B can exchange information about targets with Big O, and let him know we're coming."

"That's great, Dori."

* * *

They eventually arrived at the Wasteland. Roger had delayed Big O's arrival to let the Military Police bring up their heavy equipment and to let Big B make an appearance.

Big B had informed Big O about the expected targets: three of the Union's own homemade robots and poor, dead Big Kappa, converted to manual piloting. She knew Big Kappa had undergone some repairs as well. No one had been willing to touch the reality cannon; a cursory inspection seemed to indicate that it had failed after the one tiny burst that disabled Dori's headband. The other big device in Big Kappa's torso still hadn't been identified, but it didn't seem to be a weapon.

Of the robots, one was packed full of explosives and the others had laser cannon—not much of a threat—and missile racks that were a significant but not overwhelming menace.

Dori also figured out how to send radio messages on the encrypted Military Police channel. Hopefully the Union wouldn't be able to crack the code as easily as she had. Probably not: Big B had impressive capabilities along those lines.

Improvising a masculine voice, which she had never done before, she told Dastun's radio operator where to find the command posts and bunkers of the Union operators. Capturing the Union agents was actually more important than destroying their remotely piloted robots.

Big O asked Big B to position himself a quarter-mile to the left of him. Big B obliged. Dastun had his two new reconnaissance aircraft overhead, and his armored vehicles were following along behind the Megadeuses.

Dori said suddenly, "Three large missile launchers at two o'clock." Three big trucks had emerged from a previously unsuspected tunnel. Each held a forty-foot missile on a flatbed trailer, angled over the cabs of the trucks.

Beck was indignant. "Since when did they have truck-launched missiles? Agent Six, you jerk! You're holding out on me!"

The first missile launched directly at Big O, who stopped and destroyed it with his eye lasers.

The second missile launched, also at Big O. Beck had a poor angle for shooting the missile itself, so he turned Big B's eye lasers on the truck. The truck exploded. The missile made a sudden turn that broke it in half. The pieces tumbled burning from the sky.

"Take that, you Union bastards!" shouted Beck.

"Missile launched," said Dori. "This one's aimed at us."

Big O destroyed the missile launcher but the missile stayed on course. "Duck!" shouted Beck, ducking Big B just in time. The missile passed just a few feet overhead, flying straight and true for miles before exploding out of sight.

"That was close," said Beck. "How are you holding up, Dori?"

"I'm fine, Jason. Big B is fine, too. No damage."

Beck surveyed the battlefield. "Why are they holding Big Kappa back?"

"We don't know," said Dori.

"It's lousy tactics," Beck groused, "or a con."

Dori said, "Incoming message from Agent Six. Now's a good time to turn on Big O."

"Why?"

"The message didn't say."

Beck pondered. "He either has something up his sleeve or he wants me to show my commitment now, before he's in any deeper. Let's buy some time by acting weird."

Big B extended his left-hand cannon. The three robots, seemingly identical, were a quarter of a mile away, outside the cannon's effective range. Big Kappa, a mile away, was ludicrously outside the cannon's range. Big B had briefly fallen into the hands of the Union before Beck acquired him, so they knew his capabilities well.

Beck stopped Big B and fired the cannon at Big Kappa, shouting, "Eat lead, Union scum!"

Big Kappa dodged to one side, and the shell missed him by a wide margin. "Hey, cool!" said Beck. "That was nice of him. Makes it look like I actually had a chance of hitting him."

"Be afraid, Big Kappa," cried Beck, grinning. "My teensy-weensy eye lasers are gonna get you!" He fired Big B's eye lasers at Big Kappa. They played briefly over the Megadeus, to no effect.

Dori reported, "Big O will fire his chromebuster at Big Kappa."

Beck kept the eye lasers in play, hoping to dazzle Big Kappa and prevent him from seeing what Big O was doing.

Big O fired, leaving a streak of lava in the ground thirty feet to the left of Big Kappa. A moment later, Big O fired four missiles at one of the robots, which were getting close. The missiles tore huge gaps in the robot's torso. One of its arms was blown off, spinning like a boomerang until it crashed heavily into a dune. But the robot kept coming.

Dori reported, "Military Police artillery is targeting the robots." Shells started bursting ahead of them.

Big B had taken the lead. Now he extended his plasma lance and charged the damaged robot, brandishing it as he ran.

"Looky, looky!" shouted Beck. "I have a big scary sword!" Just fifty feet away from the robot, Big B suddenly halted and fired his left-hand cannon into the robot's head, which was torn from its body. It flew through the air, skipped three times, then rolled in a wide circle before coming to a halt. The robot's body fell smoking to the sand and lay motionless.

The second robot halted and fired all its missiles at Big O. Dori turned to the video monitor tracking Big O and watched Big O raise his forearms, their huge shields intercepting all the missiles. After the last missile exploded, Big O's forearm shields were red-hot in some places and had craters a yard deep in others. Or to put it another way, Big O was unharmed.

Big O fired the chromebuster at Big Kappa again, missing, while Big B charged the other two robots.

"We're gonna distract the robots, Dori," said Beck. "That'll remind Roger that sniping at Big Kappa is a mug's game. We've got closer fish to fry."

Nevertheless, Big O fired four missiles at Big Kappa before turning his attention to the robots, firing his chromebuster at the nearest one. This detonated the explosives that filled most of the space in the robot's torso, blowing it to atoms and hurling Big B back a hundred feet, though he managed to stay on his feet. The last robot was knocked over and partly buried under the debris thrown into the air by the explosion.

Beck was delighted, "That was great, Dori!"

Looking around, Beck didn't see Big Kappa at the moment. "Let's finish off that last robot."

He fired Big B's left-hand cannon into the half-buried robot, which exploded just like the other one. Big B was blown backwards yet again, and this time lost his footing and fell heavily onto his back.

Beck looked at the control board for red lights and saw none. "Dori?"

"We're fine, Jason."

Beck laughed. "Never a dull moment, is there? Where's that Megadeus?" Big B started getting to his feet.

"We can't detect him, Jason."

Suddenly, they saw Big O spin around. Why? Then Big Kappa shimmered into view, charging a hitherto unsuspected chromebuster.

Beck said angrily, "Those Union bastards! _I_ called dibs on the first chromebuster we found!"

Dori reported, "The unknown device in Big Kappa was a cloaking engine, Jason."

"You think?" said Beck sarcastically, then "Sorry, Dori."

"It's all right."

Big O used his hip chains to jerk himself sideways just before the chromebuster fired. Unscathed, Big O charged Big Kappa, fists raised. The moment the chromebuster winked out, Big O punched Big Kappa in the head with his left, and then hit him in the throat with his right, hoping to stun the pilot.

"Hit him for me, Roger old buddy!" shouted Beck. Big B was very close to them now. Beck aimed his left-hand cannon, waiting for an opening.

He got one when Big Kappa took a step back and his torso opened, revealing rack upon rack of brand-new missiles. Such concentrated firepower could destroy Big O.

"Die, you cheating bastards!" Beck cried, firing the cannon into Big Kappa's upper body. Big Kappa staggered back. The missiles fired skywards and were lost to view.

Big O surged forward, pounding Big Kappa over and over, the arm pistons delivering enormous blows. Big Kappa staggered backwards, step after step, then fell heavily onto his back.

Dori said suddenly, "Self-destruct sequence engaged. Five seconds."

"Let's skedaddle, Big B," said Beck, and Big B ran backwards as fast as he could, forearms raised to protect his throat and head, containing the command deck and core memories, respectively.

The explosion was ... strange. In addition to the expected flash and noise and half-molten debris, there was a wave of memories and emotions, too fleeting to grasp. When it passed, Beck looked ill and strained. Dori supposed she looked the same as usual, but she felt a terrible sadness, almost despair, because of ... no, it was gone.

Dori forced herself to concentrate. Big B was less affected than they, for this had happened to him before. He'd forgotten, but now he remembered. He'd tell them about it later. The immediate threat was over.

Dori looked at where poor, dead Big Kappa had been, and was amazed. Where she had expected to see a crater, there was just a dune, unscarred, covered with wildflowers. A moment ago it had been lifeless, like all the other dunes in the area.

Dori said, "The reality cannon discharged randomly as part of the self-destruct sequence."

Beck asked, "What the hell is a reality cannon?"

"It altered my hairband, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. Remind me to look into that technology later, Dori. It sounds like trouble."

"Okay." She filed his request on her robot side, which never forgot such things.

Beck added, "You okay, Big B?"

Big B said he was fine. And he was proud of Beck and Dori. The three of them were the best team ever! And Big O was a good pal. They could count on him.

Beck looked at his readouts and said, "Well, that's the last of them. Get Roger on the horn."

Dori was delighted. She asked, "Do you want video?"

"Yeah, but just me, not you. They get weird about you."

Dori had her doubts about this, but she panned the camera down so she wouldn't be visible from her post behind the cockpit, then placed the call. "On screen."

The front screen lit up, showing Roger and Dorothy.

"Beck!" cried Roger in amazement.

Beck grinned. "Hiya, Roger old pal. That was some fancy shooting."

Dori was saddened to see Roger become angry. "What are you trying to pull, Beck?"

Beck's grin became strained. "I'm doing my bit as a responsible citizen, Roger old buddy, just like you."

 _Poor Jason,_ thought Dori. _He wants Roger's acceptance so badly._

Roger wasn't buying it. "But you were on their side!"

"Was I?" snapped Beck. "Well, I suppose you should know. After all, you weren't there!"

Dori broke in. Enough was enough. "Jason, Angel warned you not to needle him like this."

Roger looked startled. "Dori? Is that you?"

"Yes, I'm here," she said. She panned the camera to include herself in the shot.

Dorothy gasped, "Dori! Take out the probe cables!"

The probe cables instantly unplugged themselves from her forehead adapter and pulled back some distance, hovering in the air like attentive cobras.

Dori opened her mouth to reassure, to explain, but Dorothy went on, "You're not old enough to use them! They could damage your mind!"

Beck, furious, shouted, "Back off, Dorothy! Nobody asked you! Since when are you the damned expert, anyway?"

Roger, enraged, shouted even louder, "I knew Dori wasn't safe with a swine like you!"

"That does it!" shouted Beck. He grabbed the controls to urge Big B forward. Roger did the same with Big O.

Neither Megadeus moved.

"Dorothy!" shouted Roger in exasperation.

"Dori!" shouted Beck.

Dori said, "They will not fight." Was there an echo? Then she realized Dorothy was saying the exact same words. They continued together, "This is between the two of you."

Beck grinned. "All right, then." He stood up. The front console withdrew to let him step forward. "I've always wanted to do this, Roger." He looked like he'd been granted his heart's desire.

 _He thinks he's defending my honor,_ Dori realized. _And he's right! It was my choice to be here; my choice to use the probe cables._

Roger also stood, mayhem in his eye, and made his way to the front of Big O's command deck.

Dori hurried around to where Beck was standing. He had never looked so handsome! She threw her arms around him and kissed him passionately. But when she withdrew, she was holding his pistol.

"Dori!"

"You won't be needing this, Jason," she informed him, placing the pistol on the command seat. "You can beat Roger to a pulp if you like, but no killing and no maiming." She tried to glare at him, but it was hard. In this moment, he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. "Do you hear me, Jason?"

Beck, taking this in on more than one level, grinned at her and said, "Whatever you say, Dori. One pulp coming right up."

"And Jason?" she asked, troubled.

"Yeah?" he said, giving her his full attention.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have spoken. You told me not to."

His grin returned. He waved an arm in the general direction of the monitors and Big O. "Yeah, but look how well it's all working out! I've wanted to punch out old Crowboy for ages."

They took the elevator down to the ground. The two Megadeuses were about a hundred yards apart, separated by a roughly level stretch of sand. Roger and Dorothy appeared a moment later.

It was all Dori could do to keep herself from running to Dorothy and flinging herself into her arms. But she stayed where she belonged, at Beck's side. When the two men were ten yards apart, Beck stopped and took off his coat, tie, and empty shoulder holster, handing them to Dori. Dorothy took Roger's coat and tie. Then the men continued on, while Dori and Dorothy stayed where they were.

"You want to set any rules, Roger old pal?" asked Beck, smiling.

"You wouldn't follow them," snarled Roger.

Beck didn't reply, but his smile vanished.

There was some preliminary circling. The two men were well matched. Beck was taller but Roger was more heavily muscled.

They closed. Roger landed a heavy blow to Beck's eye. Beck made a show of staggering back, and when Roger followed, he landed a ferocious jab to Roger's stomach and then a blow to his ear. Then they rained blows on each other almost too fast to follow.

A particularly heavy blow to Beck's temple sent him to one knee, where he picked up a handful of sand and threw it in Roger's eyes. Roger kicked him in the stomach and fell back.

Beck, unable to rise, lunged forward when Roger returned and grabbed his ankle, tripping him. Then the two men were rolling on the ground, alternately punching and trying to choke one another. One of Roger's eyes was swollen shut and he was bleeding from a cut on his forehead. He had pretty much lost the use of his right hand. Beck was bleeding freely from nose and mouth. He, too, had the use of only one eye.

The two rolled apart and got to their feet with difficulty. For a while they stood panting. Then they closed again, into a clinch, pounding each other feebly.

There was a pistol shot. Roger and Beck sprang apart and looked around wildly.

Angel was standing on top of the dune, her nickel-plated automatic pointed skyward.

Angel shouted, "What is this, a dance marathon? Break it up. End of round one. Back to your corners." She indicated Dori and Dorothy with her free hand. "Move it."

Dori rushed forward and took Beck by the hand, leading him to a spot a little closer to Big B. "Sit down here, Jason. I'll see what I can do about your eye."

Lowering himself painfully to the sand, Beck tried to say something, but nothing came out.

"I'll get you some water," said Dori, but Beck shook his head and pointed. Angel had strolled over to where Roger sat on the sand. She was looking down at him, speaking in that ironic way of hers, winding him up and talking him down and slapping him around and expressing affection all at the same time.

Soon Angel sauntered over to Beck and Dori. "Roger and Dorothy think we should call it a draw. I want you to go one more round for my personal amusement," she said, winking.

Impulsively, Dori said, "I love you, Angel."

Angel looked away. After a moment she said quietly, "Just play along, Dori, okay? I've cried enough for one day."

Dori said, "No, of course we won't go another round just to amuse you, Angel! What's wrong with you? We demand a draw!" Then she added anxiously, "Was that okay?"

Angel looked away again. Her shoulders shook.

Dori asked, "Are you laughing or crying?"

"I haven't the faintest idea," admitted Angel. And, indeed, when she looked back at them, there was a sparkle in her eyes, a smile on her face, and tears on her cheeks.

Angel touched up her makeup and sashayed back to Roger and Dorothy, telling them in a loud voice, "A draw it is."

Then Dori was on her feet, running to Dorothy. Dorothy was doing just the same. They stopped suddenly, a few feet apart, staring intently into each other's faces. Then they met in a fierce hug.

After a long moment, Dori said softly, "Don't cry, Dorothy."

Dorothy said, "I am not crying. I can't cry."

"Don't cry. It's all going to be all right. You'll see."

They clung together for a long time. Finally, Dorothy let go and said, a little brokenly, "We'd better tend to our men."

Dori looked around. Angel was going to have to touch up her makeup again. Beck was wearing the odd, sad smile Dori loved so well. Poor Roger looked a little bewildered and embarrassed, but also proud. His shirt had been ripped, so Dori gave him full marks. Style had to count for something!

Dorothy hoisted Roger to his feet, forgetting to conceal how much help she was giving him. Angel exchanged a few words with Dorothy, then Dorothy and Roger disappeared into Big O.

Dori assisted Beck to his feet, trying her best to make it look like she was just steadying him. Angel joined them, her eyes sparkling. "Roger Smith sends his compliments and begs the honor of your company at his home for dinner. Eight o'clock sharp. Come as you are." It was almost sunset.

Beck, whose entire face was badly swollen, muttered, "Sure he does."

Dori said, "It will please Dorothy, Jason."

Angel added, "And it's your last chance to irritate Roger tonight."

"Oh, all right," mumbled Beck.

"And I forgot to mention," added Angel, "Dan Dastun will be there, so if you're up to it, we can negotiate your parole and medal and keys to the city and whatnot after dinner, before anyone knows what hit them. Dan reports that, thanks to information sent by Big B, they nabbed about twice as many Union agents as they thought even existed, so he'll be in a generous mood."

"But I can barely talk," mumbled Beck.

Angel twinkled at him. "I'll negotiate for you, Beck."

Beck smiled carefully and mumbled, "This I have to see. Okay, Angel. Give it your best shot."

Angel helped Dori get Beck into the elevator, then gave Dori a brief hug before walking briskly to where she'd left her car.

Dori joined Beck as he was lowering himself painfully into the command seat. She said, "I've been thinking, Jason. Isn't it about time I learned how to pilot Big B? Backup piloting is one of my functions, after all.

Beck muttered, "Anything you say, Dori," and withdrew his feet from the pedals with obvious relief.

After they were underway, he mumbled, "Hey, Dori?"

"Yes, Jason?"

"Don't butter me up. Anything you say to me, I need to be able to take to the bank. Unless we're playing a game."

"You look terrible, Jason. I'll drive."

"That's better."

* * *

Dinner wasn't what Dori had expected, not that she'd known what to expect. They'd dropped Big B off at a Hangar B close to the Wasteland, where fortunately Beck had stashed one of his cars, along with changes of clothes and other necessities. They washed and changed and Dori tended Beck's injuries.

Beck was not seeing well out of his swollen eyes, so Dori tried driving. Driving Roger's car three blocks hadn't given her a feel for her abilities. Apparently she'd learned to drive when she was human, because she had no difficulty. It was a long drive to Smith Manor, and it was 8:15 before they arrived, but of course everyone had waited for them.

Norman met them at the front door. Seeing him face to face for the first time, Dori found herself crying, "Uncle Norman!" and throwing her arms around his neck in delight. She wasn't sure what that was about, but it felt right, and Norman hugged her back, so everything was okay. Beck offered his hand to Norman, who shook it after a slight hesitation.

Norman's eye started to gleam as the elevator rose to the eighth floor, as if he were anticipating something good.

They got off the elevator on the eighth floor and climbed the spiral staircase to the penthouse. And there they all were, even Dan Dastun.

When Dori saw Dastun, she instantly gave him a heartfelt hug. Dastun was embarrassed, flattered, and confused, but he hugged her back, just as Norman had. After she stepped back, Dastun asked, "What was that for?"

Dori answered simply, "You're my family." She looked around. "You all are."

She put an arm around Beck's waist. She raised her voice. "Everyone, this is Jason Beck, my unsuitable boyfriend. I love him, so you're stuck with him."

Dinner was a two-tracked affair, with the soup course lasting the whole meal for Roger and Beck, whose faces were too painful and swollen for anything more challenging, while the meal proceeded more conventionally for the others. Angel attacked her food with gusto, though with excellent table manners. She ate more than Dastun. Dori used her as a benchmark and ate about half as much. Dorothy barely touched her food. Norman was playing butler and did not eat with rest of them, which Dori found a little sad.

When the after-dinner coffee was served in the penthouse, shop talk was officially allowed, apparently, and Angel started telling Dastun the deal she had in mind for Beck's transformation into the Hero of the Hour (and approximately law-abiding pillar of the community). Still in her leather catsuit (or, Dori more than half suspected, an identical second one), her hair, nails, and makeup were perfect. Where had she found the time?

Angel's effect on Dastun was overwhelming. She could actually make him lose his train of thought just by winking. And she didn't stop at winking, not by a long shot. For example, she'd write a list on her steno pad and then cuddle up to him on the couch so they could read it together. This would have been bad enough in private, but Angel had an audience. In particular, she was showing off for Beck, who encouraged her with mumbles of approval.

Roger, who was able to speak more clearly than Beck, finally took pity on Dastun and offered his services to the city. For a fee, of course. Dastun agreed gratefully and moved to an armchair behind a coffee table to keep Angel at arm's length.

Angel sized up her new counterpart. She excused herself and returned a few minutes later in one of her stylish but professional skirt suits, presumably on the theory that Roger was most susceptible to the more genteel and businesslike forms of flirting.

Dori looked on with interest, but Dorothy told her quietly, "Let's sit over there and talk." Dorothy ushered her to a nearby table. It had a stack of blank sheets of drafting paper at one end and a variety of drawing tools.

As they sat down, Dorothy confided, "Angel will show off a little less if we're not watching."

Dorothy was still worried about the probe-cable adapter, so Dori explained the concepts, drawing the key schematics and some of the transfer curves. From time to time Dorothy paused and communed with Big O, whom she could hear with moderate clarity at this distance. Dori, less attuned to Big O, could pick up little more than his mood: a deep, contented calm.

They continued talking shop, largely in pictures. Waynerights weren't good at long conversations, even with each other, and Dorothy was deeply reluctant to say more than a handful of words about her feelings. But they were enough. Just being together—at last!—was enough. It said it all, really.

Dorothy had recently become interested in technical drawing as an art form, and she drew and wrote beautifully but slowly, never making mistakes. Beck's influence had taught Dori to see drawing and writing more as a means of pinning elusive thoughts to the paper before they escaped, so she worked with great speed, with frequent erasures and revisions.

They listened with half an ear as the negotiations wound down. Dori was pleased. Beck was getting everything he'd hoped for. His more recent victims would have their money returned at the city's expense. The city could afford to be generous because they'd captured the Union's treasury. Dori was happy for Maggie and for Pero's owners. It was a load off her conscience.

Beck's hero status would be affirmed, but only for swindling and betraying the Union. That Beck was the pilot of the Megadeus of Mystery would remain a secret as long as possible. Since Beck would now be moving around openly, and Dori would be by his side, her existence could not be concealed. But the city would reveal nothing about her; people would have to figure things out for themselves.

After everything was settled, Angel said, "Oh, I almost forgot. Dan Dastun, you will promise me that, if it turns out there's another R. Dorothy Wayneright out there, you'll keep your greedy mitts off her, because I'll be damned if every sexy man in the city is going to be lost to a R. Dorothy Wayneright. It's just not fair!"

"Well, I don't know," said Dastun, suppressing a smile. He turned to Roger. "What do you think, Negotiator?"

Roger smiled at Angel, winced at the pain, and smiled again more carefully. "You're looking at this all wrong, Angel. Never mind Dan. What you need is an android boyfriend."

Dori looked up from her drawing. Captivated by the concept, she said to no one in particular. "Four hundred pounds of pure masculinity."

Beck laughed so hard he almost choked.

* * *

A few days later, Dori picked up the phone and dialed. A woman's voice answered, "Hello?"

"Maggie Riviera, please," said Dori.

"Speaking."

"Hello, Maggie. I promised I'd call. I'm Jason's girlfriend."

"Hello, dear," said Maggie cheerfully. "Can you tell me your name now?"

"It's Dori. R. Dori Wayneright."

"Yes, I thought as much. I've seen you on television, dear, on the news. You looked adorable as hell. Arthur agrees."

"Thank you."

"So they say Beck has gone straight, he ratted out those damned revolutionaries, and now he's a hero."

"Yes."

"So tell me, was he reformed by the love of a good woman?"

"Of course," said Dori. _Though Dorothy deserves most of the credit._

"He called me yesterday, you know. You were right; he had some ideas for backing Arthur the hell out of that fix he's in. And the city called us out of the blue and said they're reimbursing the ransom money. I've never been so surprised in my life!"

"Jason had a good negotiator."

"That Roger Smith fellow? My, he's a handsome one."

"Yes, he is," agreed Dori. "But Roger negotiated for Paradigm City. Patricia Lovejoy was Jason's negotiator."

"Angel? I haven't seen her in ages!"

"Let me give you her number," said Dori, who recited Angel's number at Smith Manor when Maggie had a pencil ready.

Maggie said, "Dori, I'd love to see you. Because I haven't, you know. My back was turned. I found a little used bookstore with the most amazing selection of paperbacks. They don't advertise. I want to take you there."

"I'd like that, Maggie."

They arranged to meet the next day. Dori hung up the receiver. If only every sin were so easily redeemed!

* * *

Norman showed Dori to a beautiful bedroom on the eighth floor of Smith Manor, saying, "Master Roger would like you to consider this room your own, and consider this house your own, and spend as much time here as you like."

The bedroom had an attached bath, plenty of closet space, and a king-size bed.

Dori looked up at Norman's suspiciously blank expression and said, "An android who never sleeps hardly needs a king-size bed."

Norman, who disliked indiscreet statements, gave the impression that he was addressing random remarks to the air when he said, "Rumor has it that Mr. Beck is a most restless sleeper. It has been suggested that a large bed is a necessary item of self-defense, perhaps even for an android."

"Thank you, Norman."

"Think nothing of is, Miss Dori."

* * *

"Jason," said Dori, "Why would a lawyer named Stuart Andrews leave a message to call back?"

Beck grinned. "Remember when you told me that my mighty brain could accomplish anything?"

"Yes."

"Well, Stuart Andrews is the defense lawyer for all those Union jerks. I told him you'd be the ideal character witness. You're honest, adorable, and can see the good in anybody, no matter how undeserving."

"Did he believe you?"

"He did after I told him you've been my girlfriend for more than three days and haven't hit me with a length of pipe."

"He's a friend?"

"Oh, sure. He was my defense attorney for all my convictions."

Dori was suspicious. "That's not reassuring."

Becoming serious, Beck said, "Dori, these Union jerks are gonna get convicted. But a good character witness is the difference between 'hard time' and 'home by Heaven's Day.' They'll be better off for having known you, just like I promised."

"Jason, have I told you today how much I love your nefarious cunning?"

* * *

Dori found herself on Gordon Rosewater's farm, standing on the porch. It was sunset, with a few beautifully colored clouds near the horizon. The breeze had died and the air was cool.

Gordon's rocking chair creaked. Dori turned to face him, and he said, "I wanted to see how you were getting on, young lady."

"I've found my family, Mr. Rosewater. I'm very happy."

"Call me Grandfather, child."

"Thank you, Grandfather." Dori looked around at the twilit landscape. "I like it here." She stood quietly for a long time, enjoying the evening, the only sound the creaking of Grandfather Gordon's rocking chair.

Finally, she asked calmly, "What are your plans for me, Grandfather?"

"Why, we will save the world, of course," he said.

She turned to where he sat in the gloom. "Or die trying?"

"Perhaps. I've died trying a great many times, child. It has its uses. But this time I think we have a real chance. It will come sooner than you think."

"What must I do?"

"Who must you take care of without fail?"

"Jason and Angel," she said at once, surprised by her own answer.

"That is exactly right." He rocked quietly for a while, then said, "There is really nothing more I can teach you at this time."

Dori said, "Then I will say goodbye for now, Grandfather. Thank you." And she kissed him on the cheek.

And then she was sitting on a couch in Hangar B, her latest paperback open in her hand.

Just this morning, Beck had told her sadly that, with the Union defeated, things could remain quiet for a long time. Years might pass before Big B was called upon to do anything really dangerous. Beck's career as a hero might be over before it had truly begun. He'd even expressed doubt about maintaining the pace of his weapons development, though Big B was as devoid of powerful long-range weaponry as ever.

Dori got to her feet. Beck needed to know just how wrong he was. It was time to get to work! Time to pull out all the stops; to hurl himself into a frenzy of inspired activity. He'd like that. He'd enjoy saving the world, too. He wouldn't even mind sharing the limelight with Angel.

Dori went to give him the good news.

 **[We have come to terms]**


End file.
